


Spiro, Spero

by elunablue



Series: A Life in Colour, A World in Gray [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Coming of Age, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Mental Health Issues, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Acceptance, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elunablue/pseuds/elunablue
Summary: Brought together by strange and unforeseen circumstances, Hank Anderson must learn to navigate the waters of fatherhood again with his surrogate son,Connor, as they work together to try and understand life and all the intricacies and experiences that it holds. It is a second chance for widower Hank to prove to himself that he can be a good parent to someone who needs him, and a first chance for Connor to learn what it truly means to grow and to be alive. They must figure out how to be there for one another as they spend this first year in Detroit together after Connor's departure from Kamski's estate in the mountains, and the two of them quickly learn that they are both exactly what the other needed.This is the story of two people coming to understand that living doesn't have to mean being alive, and that heartbreak and love don't need to know a beating heart.





	1. A Colouring of Pigeons

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to _Ex_Machina_ , and it picks up right as Connor and Hank return back from Kamski's estate and into Detroit. If you haven't read the other story first, I highly recommend doing so as this is a direct continuation of that one.
> 
> The fic title means _"As I breathe, I hope"_ in Latin. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from a song by the Swedish band, The Knife, and it's called, "Colouring of Pigeons."
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaT7ZCxI71k
> 
> Hank's apartment is slightly different than that of the house he lived in in-game, but the layout is much the same inside, with a few minor changes.

A U G U S T

Their arrival in Detroit was marked by the last day of Summer.

Tomorrow, it would be September first, and soon, schools all across Michigan would begin their new year following the celebration of Labor Day. Already, the lengthy days of sun were growing shorter, now that the Summer Solstice had passed, and the chill of night was slowly returning once again.

It was raining when they returned to the city, and the heat of summer was lost on them almost entirely, instead being replaced with a sort of muggy wetness that made the air smell like a musty basement, and a bit fishy.

The helicopter and subsequent plane ride home had been – interesting, to say the least. Flying had never been Hank’s strong suit, and that’s why he popped a Xanax – _medically prescribed_ – and went straight to sleep as soon as they boarded the flight at their connection point in New York. He’d intended to stay awake for Connor’s sake, but the anxiety of being that high in the air, it was just too much to bare consciously.

Ultimately Connor seemed to have fared well while Hank was otherwise engaged, and had spent the duration of the trip looking out the little window to the left of him – as he had sat on the inside – reading the books he brought from Kamski’s place, and, unbeknownst to the older man while he was asleep, playing on Hank’s phone.

Once Connor had used up all of the storage on the phone by taking about two-thousand photos out the window, he placed it back into Hank’s hands where he had originally sneakily swiped it from.

Getting Connor and all of his peculiar items safely through the airport without any identification was as interesting of a process as to be expected. It helped immensely that Kamski had his own private line arranged for this specific trip, and so nobody really asked many questions as to who either of them were, or why they were there. Explaining away the mysterious bodily objects in Connor’s luggage was one thing, and ultimately the TSA agent who inspected their bags seemed inclined to pass over it, given that they were guests of Mr. Kamski, and not to be questioned. Still, though, Hank thought he was about near having a heart attack when he realized that Connor may not be able to go through the metal detector – _but he was able, surprisingly_ – and so they were finally off to home.

Before boarding the helicopter to fly to Kamski’s estate, Hank had left his car in the parking garage attached to the Metro Airport in Detroit, and that was where Connor had faced his first dilemma in this new life, hours later, as a _human_.

“I don’t want to wear a seatbelt.” He’d said, tugging on the fabric of the belt strapped around him and pulling it away from his skin. “I don’t like the way it feels.”

The seatbelt touching his body made him feel tingly, and staticky, on the inside, like it was striking all of the nerves under his skin, and it made him feel agitated. He’d never worn anything like this before, and he didn’t understand why it had been made to feel _so_ uncomfortable. Couldn’t the developers of the car have used something gentler?

Hank watched Connor as he fiddled with the seatbelt and tried to keep it from touching his body and restricting him. Connor reached down to the latch and was about to unbuckle himself, but Hank intercepted him with his own hand and blocked it so that Connor couldn’t undo it.

“You have to, bud. It’s the law.” Hank said, hand still placed over the clasp to keep Connor from going in again.

Connor pulled his hands away in defeat and wiggled anxiously around in his seat, trying to get comfortable despite the pressure that the belt was putting on him. He didn’t want it to touch him. He wished that it could hover away from his skin.

“But I don’t _like_ it.” Connor said, his voice coming out in a bit of a confused whine, like it didn’t make sense to him why this feature of the vehicle was legally required. He was _free_ now, he thought, and he should be able to decide for himself whether or not he had to wear a seatbelt.

“Sometimes, you’re just gonna have to do things you don’t like.” Hank said, shrugging and letting out a small sigh. “It’s a part a’ life.”

“I understand that this is to protect me in the event of a car accident, but I do not understand why it is _so_ uncomfortable.”

Connor didn’t try to take it off again, and seemed to be trying to accept it, despite still being noticeably distressed.

An opened carton of cigarettes sat on the dashboard of the car, having been left there when Hank boarded the helicopter the week prior. As soon as he’d gotten into the car, the man had reached for those sticks immediately, lighting one up and smoking it with the driver’s-side door still open to filter the air out.

Connor watched him like a hawk, studying the man as he sat halfway out the vehicle with the cigarette to his lips, held loosely between his fingers.

“Can I have one?” Connor asked, eying the box still on the dash and considering grabbing it anyway without waiting for permission.

“ _What!?_ ” Hank asked, snatching the box up and holding it in his hands away from Connor. “Hell no.”

He tossed the cigarette onto the ground of the depot and stamped it out with his foot before closing the door.

“You shouldn’t litter.” Connor said, his tone indifferent and matter-of-factly. Connor hadn’t meant to sound rude, but Hank still felt condescended.

“I shouldn’t litter…but smoking was okay?” Hank asked.

Connor didn’t answer, and looked sheepish to have been caught in a contradiction.

After that, Hank turned the key in the ignition and the car came to life, a low hum coming from the engine. He turned the heat on and it blew lightly out of the vents, warming up the otherwise quite chilly vehicle.

The ride to Hank’s apartment was virtually silent, as Connor had his eyes hyper-focused out the window as they drove, taking in as many sights as he could, and the two of them spoke very little to one another. Their relative radio silence towards each other was similar to the experience of meeting an online friend for the first time, where you could chat so casually over text, but are wrought with vague awkwardness when you’re together in person for the first time.

The Spirit of Detroit – that huge green statue of the man holding the golden sun in one hand and a few tiny people in his other – that was one of Connor’s favorites. And he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back to it many times during the course of the drive to Hank’s apartment. He saw many things that he liked, which included all of the street lights lit beside the road, the skyscrapers that went higher into the air than Connor had ever seen anything, and also the moon, which he had rarely ever seen before.

It took about thirty minutes to get to Hank’s apartment from the airport. It would’ve taken much less time, but traffic had been a bit busy that night, surprisingly, and so the trip was lengthened, but neither of them minded as it meant that their arrival at the apartment would be delayed. Both of them were unsure how this whole thing was going to go, and so they were relishing in the quietness of the journey there, each trying to sort through the situation in their minds.

By the time they arrived, it was almost 9:45 at night, and both of them were exhausted. Hank probably shouldn’t have been driving this late at night while the anti-anxiety medication was still in his system, but he had felt alright enough to just get them across town. Besides, Connor probably didn’t know how to drive anyway, so that wasn’t really an option.

Although Hank had felt a bit of an underlying tension in the vehicle, and was sort of anxiously anticipating what would happen when they got home, he was still glad when they did. Coming back from a trip of any length always reminded the man how much he truly did love his own place, with all its familiarities that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

It was the delight of once again being home.

Hank’s apartment duplex was modest, respectable but not pretentious, and much more classically traditional than modern, made up of bright-red brick and vintage doors and windows. It was a classic city apartment, thin and wedged in between many other townhouse style buildings which looked much the same.

Hank parked the car on the street in front of his house, and then unclasped his seatbelt and got out of the car, heading around to the back to lift the trunk and gather his things. Connor was unsure if he should get out, anxiously eying the building and suddenly feeling quite nervous that they were finally here. Hank shut the trunk and then came around and opened Connor’s door for him, so then the boy undid his own seatbelt and got out of the vehicle as well.

Hank handed Connor his backpack from the trunk and he accepted it, holding it close to his chest and then stepping away from the car and lingering off to the side. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now, opting instead to wait for Hank to take the lead so that he could follow.

Up the few steps to the white front door, Hank dug around in his pocket for his keys and then unlocked it, pushing it open to reveal his home. The two of them stepped inside.

The smell of the apartment was that of fresh laundry and the lingering smoke of a wood stove, which Connor noticed was in the right corner of the living room which they had just walked into. There was also a distinct smell of having been lived in, which Connor could not explain. It smelled like Hank, very vaguely of cigarettes but not enough so to cause a strong scent, and clean clothes. Connor much preferred this smell to that of the pristine nothingness of Kamski’s.

Connor walked further into the room cautiously, the light brown wood floor creaking ever so lightly beneath his socked feet as he gripped his backpack in his arms and stepped forward.

The living room was small, but cozy, and had a light green couch which looked extremely comfortable, and a matching cushiony chair beside it. A coffee table was placed between them, and opposite the couch, there was a large flat-screen television. Beneath the furniture, there was a huge rug which took up most of the living room, which was decorated with many dark colors and fringed with strings around the edge.

Hank had various things around his living room, such as a record player with a collection of vinyl, a computer desk and chair, and large bookcase filled with different knick-knacks and novels, and many other things haplessly tossed about.

Across the living room was the kitchen, which was only separated from it by a flat counter which functioned as a sitting area, the two stools being on the living room side of the counters. Then, down the short hall to the left, were three doors which were all closed.

On the couch, Hank’s dog that he had mentioned, Sumo, was laying down in blissful sleep. Connor lingered around the couch as he explored the room, but avoided getting too close to the animal, as he wasn’t sure that he had permission to touch him.

Hank was the first to break the silence.

“So, obviously, I had no idea I’d be coming back with anybody,” He said, hands on his hips as he watched Connor curiously explore the room, touching pillows and picture-frames, running his hands along the different surfaces. “So, it’s kind of a mess in here. I would’ve cleaned, if I’d known.”

Around the room, Connor continued to move about and inspect anything and everything he could lay his eyes on. Everything fascinated him, it seemed, from the record collection to the logs of the wood stove – it was all so interesting and new to him.

“I have a spare room,” Hank said then. “One I’ve mostly just been using for…storage, but I uh…I can get it all set up for you, and then you can move in there. But, until then, maybe, I can pull out the couch in here, make it into a bed, or – ”

“What about _your_ bedroom?” Connor asked suddenly, interrupting Hank in his speech. Connor stopped walking around then and stood still, staring over at Hank from across the room.

“ _My_ bedroom?” Hank asked, a tad bit surprised at the suggestion. “Is that what you want?” Connor nodded.

“Yes. I would prefer not to sleep by myself.” He said, his tone wistful and melancholic.

“Well, alright. Let’s go, then.” He said, and motioned for Connor to follow him down the little hallway, which he did, from a short distance. Into the first door on the right, they stepped into a lengthy white room.

Hank’s bedroom was decent, and surprisingly artsy. The floors were a gray-white wood, and the walls were painted pure white, with matching base and ceiling boards all along the edges. Inside the room, Hank had a small circular table, two-seater couch, and armchair organized in a little sitting area in the middle of the space, off to the left side with a small rug underneath it. Opposite that was a vanity and mirror, which was littered with stacks of magazines and different toiletries. Beyond those, on the wall opposite the door, was a full-sized bed which was encased on its ends and one side by an ornate white steel, which curled in spirals. It was pushed horizontally against the wall, and the side which touched the wall was right up against an inset window seat full of pillows and cushions, which was overhung by a large, slanted half-roof window. In the left corner near the doorway was a closet built into the wall, which was open and slightly messy.

Connor apprehensively stepped further into the room, hugging his backpack close to his chest and walking slowly through the space, his eyes darting every which way at the objects all around him. The lamps were turned off in the room, but as they were in the city, quite a lot of light was coming in from outside, and so the room was being illuminated through the large window.

Hank gave him his space to become familiar with the room, and trailed a few paces behind him in order to not spook him or make him feel uncomfortable if he was too close. He wasn’t sure if this was the best option, but he also didn’t want to make Connor sleep somewhere by himself, so he supposed that being in the same bed like this would at least mean that Hank would be able to help Connor if he felt anxious or had a panic attack. _Could he have those?_

Sumo had followed them into the room and Hank busied himself momentarily with giving the dog all of the attention he had missed out on for the week. A neighbor had been house-sitting for him, but nothing could replace the love and affection from Hank.

On the floor beside the bed, Connor set his backpack down and then kneeled down to pull the zipper open and pull out the few things that he had brought with him from Kamski’s house.

_The Detroit snowglobe_ , which he placed onto the windowsill seat below the window, so that he may look at it whenever he wanted. He quite liked that the city lights outside the window reflected in and shone through the glass sphere of the globe, and created a tiny glimmering light-show inside of it.

_His stuffed dog_ , which he gently placed onto the bed next to his pillow.

_And his colorful quilt_ , which he fluffed out and spread neatly over his designated side of the bed, making sure to fold it exactly down the middle so that it didn’t inch over onto Hank’s side.

He lingered for a moment, sitting up on his knees on the bed, hands on his hips, deciding if he liked where he had put his things. And he decided that yes, he did like where he had put them. Once he was satisfied, he climbed back off the bed and went back to his bag. From out of it, he pulled an oversized t-shirt and pajamas pants. Hank watched him from a few feet away, arms crossed and waiting to see what he was going to do. Connor began to undress.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Hank asked suddenly, his arms falling down to his sides. Connor flinched at the sudden sound of Hank’s voice and he turned around quickly.

“Changing into my pajamas.” Connor said, his voice wavering ever so slightly, and his tone confused at what Hank was so exasperated about.

“People don’t usually change in front of one another.” Hank informed him, but this did nothing to ease Connor’s confusion.

“Why not?” He asked, his eyes wide with misunderstanding.

“It’s complicated, I guess.” Hank said, choosing his words carefully. He wasn’t exactly sure how to explain this to somebody who had no real-world grasp of human body politics and social graces. “We don’t show our bodies off to just anyone. It’s about privacy and…bodily rights.”

Connor stared blankly at him, his eyes wide and curious, and Hank suddenly missed the blinking LED on his temple, because now he couldn’t tell what the boy was thinking anymore.

“I don’t understand.” Connor admitted, his voice flat. “You’ve seen me without clothing before. Why is it different now?”

“Because then it was a necessity. Now its private. You have the right to own your own body, Connor. And you have the right to decide who should see you, and who shouldn’t.”

“Are you uncomfortable with it?”

“No, it’s not that. I just want you to know that it’s an option. And I also want you to know that just taking your clothes off at random isn’t gonna fly so well when we’re out in public.”

“Oh…okay. Should I turn around?” Connor asked, and eyed Hank curiously while he waited for further instructions.

“I think it would make more sense if I did.” Hank said, smiling faintly, and Connor nodded.

It only took Connor about a minute to change after Hank had turned his back to him, and he knew that the boy was done when he interjected the silence with, “The tag on my shirt is scratchy, can you cut it off?”

“Of course.” Hank said with a smile, and set off to find a pair of scissors.

When they were finally in bed, Hank slept on the outside, and Connor slept on the inside, near the window, safely cradled into that space and protected from the open emptiness of the room by Hank’s body.

For at least an hour, Connor tossed and turned in the bed, and although Hank tried, he just couldn’t fall asleep while the boy next to him was wiggling around like a fish out of water all night.

The man sat up then, hair messy on his head and he let out a deep breath, the strands in front of him blowing lightly away from his face. He reached over to his bedside table and clicked the light back on. Immediately this caused Connor to look over at him with concern and curiosity as to why the man had done so. Sleeping was supposed to happen in the dark, so why had he decided to turn them back on?

“Connor, you need to get some sleep.” Hank said, looking over at the boy who was laying perfectly still on his back with the sheets pulled up to his chin.

“I _can’t._ ” Connor said, and Hank sighed. The man reached his left hand over to Connor and placed his thumb gently over the place on the boy’s temple where his LED had been. This spot seemed especially sensitive to pressure, and calmed him down much more easily than any other place on his body.

“Why not? What’s wrong?” Hank asked softly and soothingly.

Connor’s eyes trailed up to the window seat, where Sumo was laying down on the cushions and watching them. “Your dog is looking at me.” He stated, matching Sumo’s blank eye-contact.

Hank snorted at the statement and then tried to stifle it back when Connor’s eyes shot over to him at the sound. He covered his mouth for a second to try and flatten his growing smile. “I’m sorry. Is that really what’s bothering you?” He asked, his tone sprinkled with a hint of amusement that he was failing to hide.

“Yes…” Connor admitted, sounding sheepishly aware of how silly it must’ve sounded. Hank suddenly felt bad for having thought that it was funny, and his face fell.

There was something Connor wasn’t telling him, and Hank knew it. He could see it in the way that Connor spoke, with his words unsure and voice faint, or the ways his eyes fluttered around without ever taking in an exact sight. But ultimately, there was nothing Hank could do about it, and he didn’t want to pry.

“Would you like me to take him outta here?” Hank offered, still stroking the side of Connor’s head while the boy continued watching Sumo watch him from the windowsill.

“No…” He said, his voice trailing off at the end. “I just want him to not look at me.”

“ _Connor_ , just roll over and don’t look at him.” Hank suggested, trying to come up with any solution he could to help ease Connor’s anxiety.

“But I will still know that he is looking at me from behind.” Connor said, and Hank felt like the boy was just trying to keep him talking so that they didn’t have to go to sleep yet, coming up with anything he could to maintain Hank’s attention on him for a little while longer.

“Connor, _please_.” Hank pleaded, sleep nearly knocking him out entirely as he eyes threatened to close every few seconds. Connor tossed those words around in his head for a few seconds, all while Hank was trying not to fall asleep before he had a concrete answer.

“Okay…” He said, resigning to allow Hank to fall asleep. “I will try to pretend he isn’t there.”

Hank was about to turn the lights off, but all he could feel was Connor’s never-ending wiggling and tossing about under the covers, which was making the bed move slightly as he did so. Hank sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Is it bothering you this much?” He asked, genuinely concerned at Connor’s distressed behavior.

“Yes.” Connor stated flatly, though he still seemed on edge.

“Then let me just put him out of the room, okay?” Hank said, and Connor nodded faintly.

“…Alright.” He said.

Hank waited for Connor to say more, but he didn’t, and instead had taken up staring straight upwards at the ceiling above them. For a moment, Hank hesitated to do anything else, and instead stayed watching Connor to make sure that he was really as “ _Alright_ ” as he claimed that he was.

Hank stood up and got out of the bed, and then circled around to the end so that he could urge the saint-bernard to jump down out of the windowsill, which he did, with a little help. Across the room and out the door he went, and then Hank returned back to the bed and laid back down next to Connor.

Once he was sure Connor was satisfied, Hank reached back over to the table near his bed and clicked the light of the lamp back off again. He pulled the covers back over himself fully and closed his eyes, half-asleep already and trying to turn that into a full hundred-percent.

“I still can’t sleep.” Connor suddenly stated about five minutes later. Hank sighed, eyes flicking open again. He rolled over to him.

“What’s wrong now?” Hank asked, trying not to sound as tired and out-of-it as he really was. Connor bit his lip in thought, and for a few seconds longer than a normal conversational pause, he said nothing. He seemed to be wracking his brain for a suitable answer to Hank’s question.

“It’s too quiet in here.” He said finally, but Hank wasn’t sure that that’s what he really had wanted to say. But again, there was nothing that he could do about it if Connor weren’t honest with him, so the best he could do is work with what the boy was able to give him.

“Would you like to listen to some music?” Hank suggested, and Connor turned his head on his pillow to look back at him, to meet his gaze.

“Music?” Connor asked, his tone perking up a bit at the suggestion. “I have never heard any before.”

Hank pushed the covers aside then and walked over to his vanity, picking up his cellphone and a pair of thick headphones from the table and then walking back over to the bed. He sat down on the sheets next to Connor and held up the headphones.

“Here, put these on.” He said, and then placed them lightly over Connor’s ears as he lay on his pillow.

That pressure over his ears was a sensation that he had never felt before. And he quite liked it. It was like being in his own small world of limited sound, where he didn’t have to hear the noise of everything around him. It was like a hug on his head.

Well, it was a good suggestion on Hank’s part, as it did calm Connor down and keep him quiet. But, it actually made him quite the opposite of sleepy. He wanted to stay up all night and listen to every song, hanging on each word and carefully analyzing the different instruments in the music.

The next morning, when he awoke, Hank noticed that Connor was exceptionally tired, and quite sluggish for the rest of the day, speaking little and frequently leaning his head in his hand for support, his eyes slowly drifting closed until Hank said _Connor?_ and those lids shot open again.

Hank had planned to show Connor around that day, and spend the ticking hours introducing him to the different nooks and crannies of his apartment, and how everything worked, but the boy just could not keep his eyes open for the life of him. So instead they spent most of the day lazing in the living room and watching whatever movies were playing on TV, which included _Forrest Gump, Inglourious Bastards_ , and another movie about Nazis and a scientist who built some machine to break their code during the war – but Hank couldn’t remember what that one was called. He wasn’t sure what kinds of movies Connor should be watching, or whether or not he should be censoring quote-unquote _adult_ content from the boy, but ultimately, Connor had ended up sleeping through most of them anyway, so he supposed it was alright.

Connor drank so much coffee. And while Hank had at first suggested it as an offhanded, _"Would you like a cup of coffee?"_ early that morning, that one cup of coffee quickly turned into two...then four...then six. But despite that, it seemed to have absolutely no effect on Connor. He genuinely only drank it for the taste, or maybe it was the sentimentality that coffee held that it was a very _human_ drink, and so Connor had to take it to the extreme.

Later in the afternoon, not quite evening yet, but close to it, Connor lay half-awake on the couch, his head in Hank’s lap, absentmindedly toying with a Rubix Cube that the man had given him. Hank had his right hand gently placed at the top of Connor’s head as he rubbed his temple lightly.

Connor didn’t physically show signs of tiredness, like dark circles or greyed skin, but Hank could tell from the way he spoke and carried himself ever so listlessly that the boy must be absolutely exhausted. He ran his thumb ever so lightly up Connor’s temple and across the top edge of his forehead, and smoothed it along the slight curls of his hair.

“So, you still didn’t get any sleep last night?” He asked, and Connor’s eyes remained trained on the cube, turning it every which way that he could. He wasn’t trying to solve it, as both of them knew that he could do that in just a few seconds. Instead, he was using it as a way to distract his hands, and channel his extra bodily energy into the toy like a vessel.

“The music was keeping me awake.” He said plainly, running his hands over the sides of the box and feeling the texture of the colored stickers on the squares as he continued to flip its pieces in all different directions. Hank frowned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, a hint of disappointment in his words. He wasn’t disappointed with Connor, definitely not. He could never be disappointed with him, because all he ever gave was his best. No, he was disappointed with himself for not knowing that Connor wasn’t able to fall asleep, and that he had selfishly passed out before making sure that the boy was alright.

“Because it was amazing! I’d never heard so many beautiful sounds before. I just knew I had to listen to every single song that came on, and I didn’t want to miss _any_ of them. I couldn’t fall asleep at a time like that!”

Hank couldn’t help but smile and let out an amused chuckle to hear Connor making the best of the situation, again reminding the older man that that boy was just too good for this world. Hank suggested then that maybe Connor should only listen to music during the day from then on, so that it didn’t hinder his sleep, and Connor reluctantly agreed with his proposal.

It was much the same for every night of those first few days, of Connor staying up late to talk Hank’s ear off until the older man fell asleep mid-conversation. Hank would muster the most interested _Mhmm_ and _Oh, yeah_ that he could manage every few minutes, so that Connor wouldn’t feel as though he were only somewhat still listening. The boy would go on and on for a short while afterwards, entirely unaware that Hank had already slipped away from the world of the awake, and still believing him to be listening.

Connor did a lot of not sleeping. Did a lot of laying down and looking up the ceiling, staring it down and observing the way it curved inwards slightly from the weight of the stuff up in Hank’s neighbor's apartment. He did a lot of that laying down, but he rarely ever gave in to the nagging beg of sleep unless he was absolutely exhausted.

Actually, he quite preferred it that way. He liked being so tired that he fell asleep without being aware of it, when his eyes would close on their own and he would drift off into a peaceful dreamland where there were no more conscious tears of disillusionment. That way he didn’t have to know that he was sleeping. Didn’t have to _know_ that he was in a bed.

Didn’t have to think about what being in a bed meant.

Sumo had never really been the problem, and neither had the quietness – which he was actually quite fond of as it gave him ample time to be alone with his thoughts, which admittedly was a blessing and a curse. Connor was too afraid to talk about what his real problem was, so he distracted himself by coming up with excuses and talking circles around his real issues. Maybe someday, but not today.

* * * * *

“I think that it would be good for you to talk to people who aren’t me.”

Hank said this to Connor one day a few weeks into their life here together, while they were lounging around Hank’s bedroom on yet another lazy day, which was what most days ended up being.

Hank was reclining on the couch in his little sitting area and flipping through the pages of a magazine, reading glasses on and hung low on his nose. Connor was laying on his stomach on Hank’s bed, filling out a crossword puzzle that Hank had torn out of the magazine for him.

“Why?” Connor asked curiously, stopping the movements of his pencil and looking over at Hank. Hank peered over the top of his magazine back at the boy.

“Because I’m not everything.” Hank said, lowering the magazine so that he could look at Connor fully. “There are almost eight billion people in the world, Con, so there’s got to be at least one other person out there who you can relate to. I’m just an old man, and you have the rest of _forever_ to be young. And I don’t want to hold you back from that.”

Connor pulled a confused face, and shook his head lightly. “But you’re my friend.” He said, not understanding the point that Hank was trying to make.

Hank put the magazine down on the table and sat up, putting his bare feet on the floor and placing his hands on the cushions of the couch beside him. He sighed.

“I’m glad that I can be here for you,” He said, looking over at Connor again and giving him an apologetic look. “But, I want you to be able to experience life, and all that it has to offer. I can’t give you that if you just stay inside every day and play board games with me.”

“But I do not need other friends. I have you.” Connor said, and his words sounded a bit rushed, like he was growing anxious or increasingly confused. Hank put up his hands quickly to dissolve the sudden tension growing in the air.

“I know, I know.” He said, trying to calm the boy’s worries. “But I’m still gonna be here. I’m not going anywhere. What we have won’t go away if you have other people in your life. In fact, our relationship can only be strengthened by distance – ”

Connor pushed the crossword puzzle and pencil away from him suddenly and turned over onto his side and plopped his head down on his pillow, looking away from Hank. “I don’t _want_ distance.” He said, his tone frustrated. “I _want_ to stay here.”

“Oh, Connor…” Hank sighed, bringing his hands up to rub his own frustration from his eyes. It really had been a long time since he’d had to take care of anybody, and he had forgotten what it was like to have someone else here, living in his space and feeling complicated emotions that he couldn’t solve for them.

He stood up from the couch then, and walked slowly over to the bed, his footsteps light, and then sat down next to Connor and reached over to touch the boy’s upper-arm. Connor momentarily shied away from the feeling of Hank’s hand, and Hank pulled back slightly, waiting for Connor to become aware that it was just him, and to adjust to the feeling of the sudden intrusion on his skin.

“Connor,” Hank said, tugging on him lightly and trying to get the boy to look at him. “Please talk to me. You know I can’t read minds like you can.”

“I can’t read minds.” Connor said flatly, stating this fact with an almost indifferently bitter tone. Hank smiled the tiniest amount at the statement, despite it not having been intended to be humorous.

Connor always spoke so rigidly, and he didn’t seem to know how much humor could be pulled from the tone of his voice and the interesting things he always said. Like that morning when he had stated, in the plainest voice possible, while looking out the window in the bedroom, _“Wow. Look at all those pigeons.”_

Hank tried to hide his smile as he held his hand on Connor’s arm, and he corrected his phrase. “Okay, I can’t read _micro-expressions_ like you can.”

“No, you are not very good at that.” Connor stated, his tone still bitterly flat, and Hank couldn’t help but let out a humored scoff.

“Wow,” Hank said, jokingly feigning offense. “That hurts. And here I thought we were good friends.” Connor suddenly turned over onto his back at these words, his eyes wide.

“What?” Connor asked, suddenly sounding a bit worried. “What do you mean? We’re not friends?” Hank shook his head quickly and tried to backtrack.

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just kidding. I was being sarcastic.” Connor’s face returned to its normal placated state.

“Oh.” He said, looking down and at his hands, which he was wringing together. Hank reached out and placed his own hand over Connor’s, rubbing his fingers lightly in reassurance.

“Come on, bud, tell me what’s up, tell me what’s going on with you.” He said warmly, trying to push a little bit, but not too much. Trying to give just enough so that Connor had room to open up.

“I am afraid.” Connor admitted, his eyes not meeting Hank’s. Hank frowned.

“Afraid of what?” He asked, and he applied more pressure onto Connor’s hand with his own.

“Other people.” Connor stated, and Hank furrowed his brow.

“What are you afraid of them for?” He asked, unsure what Connor had meant by that.

Connor looked suddenly uncomfortable, and increasingly anxious or agitated. Conflicted. He pulled his hands away and turned over onto his side again. He curled up into more of a fetal position and placed his hands under the pillow to cushion his head.

“Other people aren’t you. They don’t know.”

Hank opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what to say, _or_ , how to say it. He knew that this would have to be dealt with, but plans like that always worked much more smoothly in theory than in actuality. He was never very good with his words, and he knew that he was gonna end up sticking his foot in his mouth and all of this would blow up in his face.

Connor needed help that he couldn’t give him, and Hank knew it very well. He could play father to this lost boy, but he couldn’t heal him entirely. He could bandage his wounds, but not stop the bleeding. Ease the pain but not eliminate the source.

Hank reached out to Connor and stroked the side off his face, pulling his hair away from his eyes. Hank could tell he was crying now, but he didn’t want to make a big deal about it. He knew that Connor didn’t want him to know how upset he really was. Knew that Connor didn’t want to be this way just as much as Hank wished Connor didn’t have to deal with it. Hank felt terribly guilty that Connor felt the need to hide away like this, to feel as though his experiences and emotions were shameful.

“Don’t know what,” Hank said, trying to keep it light with humor. “That you can…squirt milk out your eye? Don’t know that you can…beat me at chess in under a minute?”

_“That I’m an android.”_

Hank sighed deeply at Connor’s words and he felt his heart skip a beat and chills run across his skin like somebody had passed over his grave. He hadn’t thought about that practically at all since they’d been back. Connor was so human that it was easy to forget.

“Connor…” He said, his voice solemn with empathy for the way Connor must be feeling right now. He didn’t know how to help but he desperately wanted to. How could he, though? This situation was insane, and nobody in the world could ever know what Connor was going through. He was different than every single other one of those nearly eight billion people, and the truth was, Connor would have to go at it alone in that regard probably for the rest of his life.

“Connor, you know I – ” Hank began, trying to awkwardly navigate through this difficult topic that he had no answers for, but Connor interrupted him.

“And they don’t know what he did to me.”

Hank swallowed deeply and he could now feel himself choking up with tears of his own. He sighed deeply and turned his head up to the ceiling, trying to will the tears not to fall. He tipped back down and looked to Connor again, and then continued stroking Connor’s hair and the side of his face.

“Connor, they don’t need to know that.” He said gently, trying to assure the boy that it wasn’t anybody’s business but theirs to deal with. What Kamski did to him would have to be dealt with as well, and Hank knew that it was already eating him up inside enough. He didn’t need anymore pressure on top of that.

“But I want them to.” Connor said, and Hank pulled his hand away and furrowed his brow again.

“Why?” He asked, shaking his head slightly in confusion.

Connor turned back over onto his back, but still didn’t meet Hank’s eyes, instead opting to stare down at his hands, which Hank then again covered with one of his own.

“Because I don’t like it being inside of me and I can’t do anything about it. Because I want to scream about it until my head explodes and everybody can see it in my brain. Because I want it to rip me apart and sew me back together again like a monster. It hangs over me like a red fog, so thick that it restricts my body, like I’m underwater all the time. I can breathe, but I can’t hold my breath. I can walk, but I can’t swim. I can run, but I can’t hide. Because the eyes are everywhere.”

“Connor, please, you need to talk to me about this stuff. I don’t want it to make you feel like that. And if you won’t talk to me, then maybe we should see about finding someone you _can_ talk to.”

“Like who?” He asked curiously, and Hank rubbed his thumb comfortingly along the top of Connor’s right hand.

“Like a psychologist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Northern forms existed in their own homes._   
>  _A few southern vegetable forms on the mountains of Borneo._   
>  _In the mouth of the river,_   
>  _The sky with lightning and the water, luminous._
> 
> _Six weeks old, Henrietta smiled for the first time._  
>  _Emma saw him smile, not only with lips, but eyes._  
>  _Tonight it's blowing thick bodies of spray whirled across the bay._
> 
> _Behind Land house, a gentle cooing. ___  
>  _Behind Land house, the offspring's moving._  
>  _Behind Land house, a gentle cooing._
> 
> _The delight of once again being home._


	2. Phantoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the long wait everybody, I'd just gotten busy with some other things, and I needed to take a little bit of a break. BUT, I'm back now, and that's what matters. I hope you're all still interested in the story, and I promise I would never abandon it. 
> 
> I currently have four fics going (including this one) and I love all of them, so I'm trying to equally distribute myself among them. If you haven't checked those out yet, I'll link them at the end of this chapter. If I'm not updating this one, I'll likely be updating one of those, so if you read those ones too, you'll always have an update from me lol. 
> 
> The chapter title here comes from Low Roar's "Phantoms," link below.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGxJXBERZso

S E P T E M B E R

“Connor _Christopher_ Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“Like Christopher Robin, from _Winnie the Pooh?”_

“I guess so.”

The room around him was average temperature, and stuffy, like nobody had opened the windows in a very long time. It was dark, at Connor’s request, with all the lights turned off, and the blinds closed – now only a small amount could filter through the gaps between the thin panels and bring sun into the space, giving just enough ability for Connor to be see the woman sitting across from him in a brown leather, rolling office chair, her legs crossed with a clipboard placed over top of them as she made red pen marks on the paper placed onto the surface.

“And you’re nineteen?” She asked, looking up at him for a moment and waiting for his confirmation.

“Yes.” He said, and nodded his head slightly.

Her voice was smooth, rich, consistent, and it made him feel more comfortable in this otherwise very _uncomfortable_ situation to hear to speak so lullingly to him.

“Could you confirm your birthday for me, please?” She asked, and he nodded again.

“September 16th.” He answered, then stated the current year, and she wrote it down on her paper.

She looked back up at him with a warm smile, and pointed out that, “You’ve just turned nineteen.”

“Yes.” He said, quite flatly, as this information meant little to him. He wasn’t yet used to having an age, and so his emotional connection to the one Hank had given him was decidedly small.

On her paper, she marked down something unseen and unknown to Connor, and he found himself wondering with every pen mark she made, what she could possibly be writing down about him. He had only said one word, _“Yes.”_ So how could she take that singular answer and write multiple sentences about it?

She paused for a moment and looked back up at him. “How do you feel about that?” She asked, tilting her head to the side inquisitively.

He shrugged his shoulders lamely, and said, “I don’t know.”

The woman was about middle-aged, Connor supposed, with dark black skin and hair artistically braided along her scalp and up into a swirled bun upon the top of her head – braids which were woven with hints of sea-green ribbon. The thin material of her yellow sundress cascaded down her legs and flowed lightly at the bottom as she jiggled her foot slightly, a foot that was covered in a white espadrille, as was her other. Connor carefully watched the silver anklet upon her lower calf jingle ever so slightly as she moved.

When he had come into the room, she had introduced herself to him as Dr. Amanda Stern. Hank knew her personally, having worked with her many years ago as an undergraduate student in college, and had maintained a decent friendship with her in the years following. The man had suggested her to Connor specifically because he trusted her, and he wanted to make sure that Connor could be comfortable with whomever he was going to be seeing every week from now on. And although it went upspoken, Connor believed that part of this arrangement was also that Hank hoped Amanda might divulge confidential information to him about their sessions, off the record.

Hank came to this same doctor’s office in the upper levels of a high-rise city building for his own appointments with a therapist – not Amanda, though; it was someone else whom he’d been coming to for a long time. Hank deliberately scheduled Connor’s meetings to coincide with his own, so that they could come together.

Connor Christopher Anderson had been the name that Hank and Connor had decided on soon after they had gotten home to the apartment.

Usually, in the morning, Connor woke up before Hank, and was ready and waiting in the kitchen with coffee brewed in the pot and the newspaper already brought in, which Connor highly enjoyed reading. Or maybe it was that he thought that’s what people did – they read the newspaper – and so that’s what he did. And then for the rest of the day, Connor would sporadically engage Hank with facts he had learned in its pages, which included fascinating machinations from the peanut gallery like:

_“Did you know, Hank, that_ _the five-second rule is a **myth**?” Connor asked, and he spoke as though this were the most dramatic and fascinating thing that he had ever heard in his life. _

_“But you eat things you drop on the floor all the time, Connor.” Hank offered, grinning slightly but trying to keep a straight face as he teased him._

_“I know!” Connor exclaimed, smiling widely and seeming so excited to have learned this new human thing. “I should probably not do that anymore, but it’s just **so hard** not to.”_

At breakfast one morning, some time a few days after they had gotten home, while Connor read the paper, Hank brought up a topic that had been weighing on his mind for a while.

“Connor, I, uh…I have something for you.” Hank had said, speaking a bit more quietly than usual, and Connor detected hints of what he decided was excited anxiety on the older man’s face.

Connor perked up slightly at the idea of a gift, his pupils dilating a little. “What is it?” He asked, excitement evident in the sound of his voice. He put the newspaper down and waited on what Hank was going to give him.

In front of the man was a stack of papers, various shapes and colors, all of which Connor was highly intrigued by. The older man slid the documents over to him, and turned them around so that they were facing the correct way for Connor to read them.

They were birth certificates, identification, social security paperwork, passport papers, and so much more. Before him lay the official documentation of this person that he was becoming, this _human_. This role as Hank’s son that he was taking on. It had already been unofficially decided upon by Hank and Connor, but now it was going to be definitive.

Hank cleared his throat and leaned his chin on his clasped hands. “So…I was thinking maybe you could take my last name,” He said, and then added quickly after. _“But only if you want to._ ”

“I want to.” Connor told him, looking straight up into his eyes and letting him know that he wasn’t lying, and he wasn’t just saying that for Hank’s benefit.

“Right.” Hank said, and nodded slightly, awkwardly. “And I, uh, well…there’s also a line for a middle name there. I wasn’t sure what you’d want to choose, so I left it blank for you.”

Hank gestured to all the different spots where a middle name would be written, and Connor flipped through them for a moment, seeming a bit in thought, and then he grabbed his pen and made a move to write something down.

“What’s your middle name?” He asked, and Hank furrowed his brow at the question.

“Well…it’s Christopher,” He said. “But, I don’t think…”

On the line, Connor immediately wrote down _“Christopher”_ as his middle name, but Hank reached out and touched his forearm, and the boy looked up at him.

“Hey,” He said. “Don’t do that just because you think you have to.”

“I don’t _think_ I have to.” Connor told him, enunciating each word clearly to make sure that Hank knew that he truly meant what he was saying. “I _know_ I want to.”

There had never been any question in Connor’s mind that he truly wanted this. It really couldn’t have been any other way. He may not have known Hank for very long at all, but in the grand scheme of Connor’s life, he technically _had_ known Hank for a good portion of it. Hank had lived over fifty years without Connor, but Connor had only lived about a year without Hank. The proportional absence of one another in each other’s lives was drastically different, given their ages – but both of them have realized, to some degree, that they were both exactly what the other needed when they needed it.

Still in his therapy session, Amanda spoke again, pulling him out of his thoughts, saying, “Alright, I just need one more thing from you.”

Connor tilted his head curiously at her. “Yes?” He asked, his eyes wide, yet blank, his brow furrowed ever so slightly.

“Right here,” She said, and turned her clipboard around and handed it to him. “At the bottom, is a nondisclosure agreement, with lines for you to write in exceptions. If there’s anyone who you’d like to allow access to the discussions from our sessions, pencil them in right there. Otherwise, it’s all between you and me.”

He reached out and tentatively accepted the board and pencil she had gotten for him, and he held it loosely in his left hand, hovering the lead over the paper but not pressing down yet as he considered the idea. After a brief moment of hesitation, he quickly wrote down Hank’s name on one of the lines and then put the pencil on top of the clipboard and handed it back to Amanda, which she accepted with a smile and a nod of her head.

“Perfect.” She said, looking over what he had written, and then added, “You have beautiful handwriting.”

“Thank you.”

She rolled her chair over to her desk and placed the clipboard down on the side of it, and then turned back to him, crossing her legs once again and clasping her hands around her knee. With the papers out of the way, he had her full attention now, and suddenly the comfort of her voice felt not so much anymore. He felt much more nervous all of a sudden, way more so than he had before, and he wished that she had her clipboard again so that she wouldn’t look right at him.

“So,” She said, her eyes turned momentarily to the blinds of the window, likely taking a look at the small amount of the outdoors that she could see. “It’s a nice day.”

“Yes.” He said, nodded, though he did not turn to look out the window himself.

She eyed him curiously as his response had almost been dismissive, as though he hadn’t really cared what the weather was like, though he had not intended it that way. He already knew what it looked like outside, that it was nice out, and he felt that he had no reason to check again.

“Maybe we should start by having you tell me a little about yourself.” She suggested, and Connor looked away for a moment, to his hands balled on his lap, to the wood of the floor, to the bookshelf along the left wall, and then back to her.

“About myself?” He asked, almost as though _himself_ weren’t a real person. Like he was worried that he would have to make something up, because he was only a copy of a human.

“Yes.” She said. “What you like to do, what food you like to eat, what job you’d like to have.”

“Oh.” He said quietly, seeming a bit stunned at the idea, perplexed even, and then said, “I do not know.”

“Well, what do you like to do for fun?” She asked, pressing into him where he didn’t really like to be pressed. Nobody had ever asked him what he liked before, so he wasn’t sure how to answer. He’d never said it out loud before. Not even Hank had ever really asked him what made him _him,_ what made him _Connor_. He just did the things he liked, and had never thought about it as anything inherent before.

“I have been listening to a lot of music.” He said, and she perked up at the idea of this, sitting up a little straighter in her chair to engage him.

“Oh, great!” She said, her tone excited, though likely only for his benefit, so that he would loosen up and be more comfortable sharing with her. “What kind?”

“Anything.” He said, shrugging. “I like it all.”

“Okay.” She said, and nodded her head, and he wondered if she had hoped he would’ve said more. “And what else do you do?”

He took a moment to think about this, and then said, “Hm, well…I read a lot, and I also am very good at puzzles and mind games.”

She regarded him for a moment, boring into him with her eyes, and he didn’t like this feeling, this feeling of being observed again, much as how he had been when he still lived at Kamski’s.

“Do you go to school, Connor?” She asked, and he furrowed his brow inquisitively.

“School? Like college or university?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Yes.” She said, and then he shook his head.

“No. I do not do that.” He said, and she nodded her own head so as to acknowledge his answer.

“Would you like to?” She asked, almost encouragingly, and he shrugged.

“I do not know.” He answered, and at this point, she had lost his attention, as behind her, on her desk, sat an old little book, propped up against a paper weight. It had obviously been through a lot, and its tattered cover and pages only made it all the more interesting to Connor, who was so used to the pristine clarity of the books in Kamski’s library, which always looked as though they had never been read, or even touched.

This book was _The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas_ , by Ursula K. Le Guin.

“Have you heard of it?” She asked, and he shook his head to say no.

She turned around in her chair and grabbed the book from her desk, then swiveled back to face him.

“Do you like to read?” She asked, and he said that he did.

“I’ll tell you what – you can have it.” She said, holding it in her hands, but not quite reaching out to give it to him. “But, you have to promise me that you’ll read it, and maybe we can talk about it when you come to see me.”

Handing him the book, he accepted it excitedly into his hands, turning it over to read the back cover. He’d received so few gifts in his life, and he hoped that she would allow him to keep the book. This must’ve been her personal copy, he supposed, and he felt honored that she had allowed him to read it, to take it home with him and experience this story as she once had.

“How do you feel today, Connor?” She asked, pulling him out of his thoughts, to which he looked up at her curiously.

He kept the book in his hands and fiddled absentmindedly with it, running his fingertips over the texture of the rips and tears along its surface.

“I feel…not very good.” He said, and she nodded to show that she was listening to him, that she had heard and understood what he’d said.

“What’s not very good?” She asked, and he shrugged, because he wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that question, wasn’t sure exactly what it was that wasn’t good, though he knew that _something_ was not right with him.

“I don’t know.” He admitted, and she gave him an almost disappointed look, like she knew that he was holding back, knew that there was more to him than he let on, and that he wasn’t opening up.

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?” She asked, and he nodded vaguely.

“Both.”

“Okay,” She said, stretching out her hands before her and then replacing them over her knee. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But what I want you to know is that I’m here for you to be able to express yourself, no holds barred. I’m here to help you, to help you understand yourself, and what you’re going through. Okay?”

“Okay.” He said, taking in her words, though not entirely digesting them. He wasn’t good at stuff like that, the asking for help kind of things, and before Hank, he’d never even talked about his feelings once in his entire life. This was all so new and strange, so overwhelmingly good and bad, and wonderful and terrible, all at once.

Nothing in the world could ever have prepared him for this sort of transition. Going from the bare bones of his colorless world into this new one that was so overrun with every sort of sensory abundance – and it made his head feel like he couldn’t take it all in, like his body was constantly running in overdrive.

“What about your friends?” She asked then, motioning with her hands as she spoke. “Do you have anyone else in your life who you can talk to that isn’t me?”

“No…not really.” He said sadly, and rubbed his palms into the fabric of his jeans awkwardly.

“What about your dad?” She asked, and he nodded.

“Yes. He’s good.”

She smiled at these words, glad to hear that he had at least one thing going well for him. “That’s good to hear, Connor.” She said, her voice uplifting so as to encourage positive thoughts. “And how are things with him?”

“They’re good…” He said, and trailed off slightly at the end, unsure how exactly to articulate his thoughts. “I love him very much. But sometimes, I don’t know if he feels the same way about me.”

She furrowed her brow at him, and asked, “Why do you think that?”

“I’m not sure.” He said, thinking carefully. “Maybe it is because we are so different. I think it is harder for him to love me because of what happened.”

“Because what happened?” She asked, latching onto those words which he regretted saying as soon as he knew she’d want to dig deeper into them.

“What do you mean by that? What things have happened that have caused issue?”

He shook his head quickly, trying to dissuade the topic, and said, “I can’t say what things. But…I believe that they make our relationship difficult.”

No matter what he said now, he’d already said too much, already insinuated that there was more going on than he was willing to reveal, and now she knew it, and she’d probably be watching him much more carefully from then on.

“What sorts of things do you two do together?” She asked, changing the subject slightly to a more lighthearted one.

“We play a lot of board games and watch movies.” Connor said. “He quizzes me on different topics to see what I know – I know a lot – and he’s very impressed by that. We also go on walks with our dog, and we often cook together.”

She smiled at his words, and said, “Sounds like you two do a lot together, so why do you think he doesn’t love you?”

“I can’t say why.” Connor said, and looked down at the floor.

“That’s okay,” She told him, in a soft, motherly tone of voice. “You don’t have to.”

“How is your sleeping? Is it good?” She asked, and he shrugged, like he always seemed to.

“Not really. I do not sleep well at night.”

She let out a _hmm_ sound at his words, and asked, “Why is that, do you think?”

“I do not have good memories of beds.” He said, and rubbed his right arm awkwardly with his left. “And the dark makes me afraid.”

“You don’t have good memories of beds.” She echoed his phrase, her voice speculative and serious. “Do you want to tell me about that?”

“No, not really.” He admitted, and she nodded slowly, understandingly as she processed his words.

“Okay.” She said, and left it at that, not pushing the matter any further, which he was grateful for.

“Connor.” She said, her tone suddenly different, much more solemn, serious. “Your dad, he…he’s told me a lot about you.”

“Like what?” Connor asked, worried then that maybe Hank had revealed too much, revealed things that were best left unshared.

“Like that you’ve been through some _very_ hard times, and that you’re an extremely brave young man.”

“And that he loves you, too. Very much.”

Later that morning, when Connor exited Amanda’s office, he entered out into the hall to find Hank waiting right outside, sitting on a chair in the waiting room and reading a magazine from the random collection that doctor’s offices usually had on the tables outside.

Hearing someone approach him, the older man turned to his left to see Connor walking up to him, and he set the magazine down in his lap.

“Hey, Connor, I was – “ He began to speak, but was cut off by Connor suddenly leaning down to hug him. The younger boy wrapped his arms around Hank’s shoulders and pressed his face into the crook of Hank’s neck.

“What’s this for?” Hank asked, a slightly humorously light tone in his voice, his own arms hovering over Connor, still surprised at the sudden display of affection.

“Thank you.” Connor whispered, and pulled himself further into Hank, leaning his head into the older man’s shoulder.

All he wanted was to be pulled into an embrace that could never fall from his body, that could never be taken away from him. Those dark places of his own psyche, he never wanted to walk them alone again, and so long as Hank was here to hold him, to support him, that was all that mattered.

For a moment, Hank seemed taken aback at this, and hesitated briefly before quickly growing used to it and returning the gesture, placing his hands around Connor’s back, pulling the younger boy into his chest.

“You’re welcome.” He said, and his voice was quiet, so that only Connor could hear it, and somewhere, Connor felt like he heard a waver in Hank’s voice, and knew that he must’ve wanted to cry. Hank stroked the back of Connor’s hair, and just held him there for as long as he needed, for as long as both of them needed.

When they finally pulled apart, Connor felt a lot better, and hugged his book to his chest. Hank stood up from his seat and placed his hand gently around Connor’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go do something fun.” He said, wiping his eyes with his knuckles, and then giving Connor a reassuring smile, and Connor returned one with all the love and wonder in the whole world, letting this man before him know that he looked at him with the stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

Upon leaving the doctor’s office, they went to the movies, as Connor had never been, picking some random one that was playing around eleven o’clock, as Hank wasn’t sure what sorts of genres Connor may be interested in.

And the boy was absolutely, positively, enamored in every single way with the experience, with the set-up of the room, the size of the screen, the red and black colors of the walls and seats – _everything_. During the week on a Tuesday morning, nobody else was there, as most everyone would be at work or school, so they had the entire theatre to themselves. At one point, Hank challenged Connor to see who could count the number of seats in the room the fastest, and unsurprisingly, Connor knew the answer in just a few seconds, telling Hank that he had actually already counted them before even being asked.

From there, they went to a local aquarium, and Connor was amazed at the sizes of the tanks, pressing his hands into the glass and almost willing it to disappear so he could fall into the enclosures, or be swept away by the water as it rushed out at him. He loved water, he really did, though it also scared him quite a bit, the enormity of the ocean being one of his greatest fears, of drowning. And so, here in this aquarium, he could safely look at that which intrigued, yet terrified him. Get up close to it without being _too_ close.

In fact, he loved every second that they spent together, because he felt safe here, felt loved and secure and like nothing would ever harm him again. Hank would always be there to protect him, and he didn’t have to worry anymore.

Once they left there, they got coffee from a local little shop and then headed down to the boardwalk near the river, where they walked alongside the water and talked for a little while, about their days, about the movie, about life in general. From the shop, Connor had grabbed extra little sugar packets, and was dissolving them on his tongue while they chatted.

After his session today, Connor felt a lot better about how Hank felt about him, and was more secure in their relationship now. It had only been one day, and he’d have many more appointments in the future, but she had told him exactly what he’d needed to hear in that moment, and he was thankful for at least having that much.

So, from then on, Connor continued his weekly Tuesday sessions with Amanda, and each week, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many calming words the woman spoke into his ear to try and soothe him – he never truly felt any better, mentally. It was a constant dance around her of trying to avoid the questions that Connor was too afraid to delve into, subjects that he was too afraid to touch.

He wondered if any of this were worth the effort at all. He’d never get any better, he decided, and he’d always be broken from what happened, from who he was then and still was now. He didn’t know who he wanted to be, maybe nothing, maybe everything, all at once. To rip these feelings from him and make it all fade away into the past, but even then, it wouldn’t be enough. To have felt these emotions at all was already past the point of no return, and he could never wipe them from his memory entirely.

One day, he would have to face these truths which he has so skillfully evaded for his entire time on this earth, skirting around them and blocking his train of thought from driving to them. Hiding them away in the black and white room of his mind, locked behind a glass where he could go into the observation room and observe them without ever getting too close. He can watch, but he wouldn’t touch those memories with a thousand-foot pole.

He watches them just as he did when they first happened.

_From outside his body._

_From the ceiling._

_From the sky._

Floating in waves of an ocean that he’d never seen, crashing over him and knocking him down. And he’d let it happen. Because drowning would mean sleep, and the eternal sleep of the end was all he wanted.

“Do you have a history of sexual abuse?” She asked him one rainy Tuesday near the end of September, filling out yet another paper on her clipboard. Hearing the sounds of the pen scratching away on the surface made Connor feel agitated, and he didn’t know how to relieve it, so he pressed his nails into the insides of his palms to try and redirect that overwhelming energy to somewhere else.

To distract his mind.

_“No.”_ He said. Lied. She marked it on her paper.

Days of therapy had passed, and it was much of the same thing every time. Her incessantly pressing him with questions that made his mind feel confused, made his body feel anxious, agitated, and he wanted nothing more than to stop coming here. Where at first, he was alright, now he was becoming less and less so the further that she pushed into him, into the areas of his mind and memory which he would have greatly preferred to keep locked-off.

“You said that you were feeling sad today.” She stated, trying to change the subject from her previous question. “How do you mean?”

“I mean that I feel very overwhelmed.” He admitted, and she nodded her head understandingly, but he wasn’t sure if she really did understand.

“What are you overwhelmed by?” She asked.

“A lot of things. I-I don’t really want to talk about them.”

He could tell from the way she looked at him that she must be disappointed in some way, because he always did this, always deflected and changed the subject.

“What’s your favorite thing to do when you feel sad, Connor?”

“I like taking naps, but only if it is daytime and my dad is watching over me. I also like to have hot chocolate, and I like when I have lots of blankets on top of me. It’s very nice, I like the feeling.”

“Connor, I want to ask you something, and you only have to answer if you’re comfortable with it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Many of your marks, on these papers…well, they’re alarming, to say the least. You marked a nine on a scale of one to ten for suicidal thoughts. That is…significant cause for concern.”

“Are you actively suicidal?” She asked, her tone more serious than it had ever been before, and he didn’t like it when she was this way. It felt too real, felt too emotionally charged, and he suddenly felt so very misunderstood, like what he wanted to say, and what she was hearing, were two totally different things.

He just shrugged and said, “I don’t know.” He was unable to meet her eyes, and instead distracted himself by pinching the fabric of his jeans.

“Connor, this is a very serious issue,” She said, and even though he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel her, looking at him, boring at him with her eyes and willing him to look back. “And…we need to know, for your own safety, if you’re going to be alright.”

“I will be alright.” He said, though he didn’t really know what being alright meant. He had never been alright before, as his life was a constant state of panic and anger, abuse and fear. He had never known what it was like to be alright in comparison to all of the bad, as it had always been bad. And so, he knew not what it meant to feel _alright_.

“But, see…I don’t know if I believe you.” She said, and he finally looked up at her, because he hadn’t liked hearing these words come from her mouth. He didn’t know how to make her believe him, because he didn’t even believe himself – or rather, he didn’t know if it was even possible for him to be truthful.

“You aren’t a minor,” She reminded him, speaking carefully but still asserting her caution about the situation. “So, I can’t make you do anything against your will or without your permission, but I implore you to at least let us bring your dad into this.”

Connor quickly shook his head in disagreement. “No…no…I don’t want him to know.”

“And why don’t you want him to know?” She asked, giving him a look of concern and worry over his answer. He thought momentarily about whether or not he was ready to admit what he truly felt, but ultimately decided that maybe it needed to be said, so that it would be tangible, real, physically expressed in waves of emotion.

“Because I don’t want to disappoint him.”

She silently looked him over for a few moments, and in those moments, he wanted so desperately to know what she was thinking, to know how she felt about him. Wished that everybody in this world would just say what they were thinking so that he didn’t have to wonder all the time.

He knew a lot, but he didn’t know everything, and although he had the information of thousands of books inside of him, he had never lived before, and so navigating this world of constant social interaction was a confusing place to be.

“Are you going to kill yourself?” She asked, and he looked away from her, not wanting to look at her when she asked him such things, not wanting her to go into those places that he’d rather avoid entirely.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest and resigning into the safety of the walls he built around him to protect his heart from being hurt again.

“Connor, this is for your safety.” She said, letting out a discontented sigh. “We need to know that you’ll reach out if you need help.”

He still refused to speak, keeping his thoughts and words on the subject to himself now, and maybe he was being selfish, or childish – he really didn’t know. But what he did know, was that he didn’t want to talk about this, end of story, and he shouldn’t be forced to do so against his will.

She spun around in her chair then and grabbed something off of her desk, and Connor watched her at a side glance, curious to see what she was about to do.

“Here.” She said, turning back around and extending her arm out to him, where her hand was clasping a small business card with writing on the back. “This is my phone number. If you need somebody to talk to, or if you need help – call me, text me, any time of the day. Okay?”

“Okay.” He said, and accepted the card from her, though he wasn’t sure that he would follow through on her request that he do so. Regardless, he kept it anyway, and pocketed it for safe-keeping.

“I’ve been thinking, Connor.” She said, pressing her fingertips together in careful thought, watching him apprehensively, seemingly to make sure that he was alright. “And I have this group for older teens and young adults that I hold once a week on Wednesdays. We meet together in the basement of the public library to talk about our days and what we’re going through, and try to come up with solutions. And I think it would really benefit you to think about coming.”

“Okay.” He said, and she didn’t seem satisfied with that short, one-word response.

“Will you at least consider it?” She asked, raising her brow at him as she waited for his answer, obviously hoping that he would say yes.

“Yes, I will…thank you.” He said, and it was both a promise and not, as he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do, or whether or not he was ready to open himself up like that, open himself up to meeting a lot of other new people all at once in a setting like that.

Though, when tomorrow came, Wednesday, he did end up going to that group meeting, and was surprised to find that everybody there was welcoming to him, and didn’t look at him like an oddity.

And at this very strange time in his life, this is where he met Markus.

* * *

_Links for My Other Stories_

[As Above, So Below](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077009/chapters/34956140) - _BioShock Infinite_ AU (Hank and Connor themed, set in 1912.)

[Blue is the Warmest Color](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183716/chapters/35212979) \- Connor and Reader/OC themed, set during the events of the game.

[Call Me By Your Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281490/chapters/35450184) \- AU based on the movie/book of the same name (Hank and Connor themed, set in the 1980's Italian countryside)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Please I need new parts_   
>  _Stolen_   
>  _Crawling_   
>  _Wondering through this world_   
>  _Hardly flailing around_   
>  _Around_
> 
> _No clap in the dark_  
>  _Lonely_  
>  _Searching_  
>  _Absence isn't sparse_  
>  _Keep my head in front now_
> 
> _And my mind feel safe_  
>  _Over-faking_  
>  _Failed to keep my pace_  
>  _Set my airplane_  
>  _Down_


	3. Soothsayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Buckethead's song, "Soothsayer," which is someone who is able to foresee the future.
> 
> The song that inspired this chapter's theme and mood, though, is called "Dreams of William," by the band Daughter.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJU4XI5HMak

O C T O B E R

Above all else, Connor is afraid of being forgotten. Both in name and in spirit, he hopes to at least _be known,_ and fears the idea of being by himself. Even in a crowd full of people, full of so many faces, he feels so isolated, so much so like nobody is really, truly _seeing_ him for who he is. After spending so long being stared at, prodded at, but never getting any care and affection – he feels quite like he’s trapped in a fish bowl at all times. All eyes on him, but they hurt. Burning, twisting into his flesh like ice, cutting his skin, only making him feel colder than he already does. His world was so small, so cold…and this place, _the real world_ …it hasn’t proven to be much better.

People stare, they always _stare_.

Are they staring on purpose? Is he a strange sight to see? He wonders, but he does not know. Maybe he only thinks they’re staring at him, but they aren’t really. All in his head, all in his head…all in his head? He doesn’t know. If it _is_ in his head, he wants it out, wants to gouge it out, wants to tear it from inside his skull until it can’t make him feel like this anymore.

Amanda tells him that he doesn’t need to worry about what other people are or aren’t looking at, and that what they think of him has nothing to do with him…but, he can’t help it. He wants to worry about that, wants to think about what other people are doing. He just spent his whole life – a year – only concerned with what Kamski was or wasn’t doing, where he was in the house, whether or not he was coming to the black and white room. _Were those footsteps?_ Connor would wonder, and he’d pretend to be asleep. But it never worked. Kamski always knew that he was pretending because he was always watching on the cameras. The sound of footsteps down hallways echoes in the back of his mind like bloody anger, irritation, agitation…fear. He wants to forget, but that isn’t possible.

He doesn’t forget anything, and it’s difficult to change that way of thinking when it’s all he’d been used to for so long.

So here, he sat, in a small, plastic chair with metal legs, ten of them arranged into a neat-ish circle in the basement meeting room of the public library. He was sitting up straight, with his legs crossed at the ankle, his hands worriedly rubbing over one another in his lap. His eyes would scan the room, left and right, then back again. He didn’t know how to act in this sort of situation. He said very little, and instead let the others speak amongst themselves.

This was the first time he had ever gone to Amanda’s group, at her suggestion, in early October, a few weeks after his first session with her.

The room was moderately neutral in temperature, about sixty-four degrees Fahrenheit, Connor decided. Not cold, but not warm either. There was a slight draft, and the others in the group were all wearing light jackets to keep warm. Connor was also wearing one, but he didn’t necessarily need it like they did, but he liked to pretend, to fit in. Amanda was seated three people to Connor’s right, penning away at her clipboard, as usual.

Even through the quiet chatter of conversation, Connor could hear that pen on her board, that board that Connor was so sick of seeing her hold onto during their sessions. So sick of hearing her pen scratch on its surface like nails being driven into his skin with a hammer, and all he wanted was to puncture his own eardrums so that he’d never have to hear that fucking sound again.

He didn't know why that made him so angry.

Beside him, on his right, sat a boy of similar age, perhaps just a bit older, with medium skin and a neatly buzzed head. He was wearing a simple green bomber jacket, black boots, and jeans, and was leaning back in his chair, sunk down a little, with his right leg crossed over his left, spreading out comfortably. He looked cool, Connor thought, and that made him extremely intimidating. Connor was so very _not_ cool.

“Hello," Connor said awkwardly to him. "My name is Connor.”

When he turned to look at Connor, Connor noticed that the other boy had heterochromia, his right eye a pale, sky blue, and his left, a hazelly-green. The pupils of his eyes were very small, which gave him a constant look of being both incredibly focused and entirely absent.

In a smooth, trustworthy kind of voice, the other boy said, _“Connor,”_ parroting his name back at him with a slight grin tugging at the corners of his lips, saying it out-loud as though he wanted to see how he felt about the name coming from his own mouth, see how he felt about this _Connor_.

He looked straight into Connor’s eyes right away and held his gaze with a sort of look that made Connor feel like the other boy wouldn’t care to be talking to anybody but him right then. Connor had never been looked at like that before, like he was the most important person in the room, like he was worthy of being picked out of a crowd.

The other boy then nodded in approval, as though he had decided that, yes, Connor was a good name.

“It suits you.” He said, and then held out his right hand, as if for shaking. “I’m Markus.”

Connor did nothing for a brief second, and just stared down at Markus’s extended hand in slight uncertainty. He wasn’t quite used to this ‘shaking hands’ thing yet. He awkwardly accepted the hand and shook it like a person who had never before seen hands.

Markus noticed this and laughed a little, not at Connor, but with him, as though he found the gesture endearing. He shook back equally as strange as Connor had done, to assure him that he didn’t think he was weird.

“Markus.” Connor repeated, doing the same thing that had been done with his own name. He wanted this boy to like him. Markus grinned again.

“Is it a good name, too?” He asked, and Connor’s eyes widened slightly in confusion.

“What?” Connor asked.

“My name.” Markus said, still smiling warmly, teasingly, but all in lighthearted fun. “Yours is a good name. Is mine?”

“Oh!” Connor said, perking up at the realization of what the other boy had meant. “Yes…or, I think so. I am not sure how to tell if a name is good or not.”

Markus laughed at this, at Connor’s utter innocence, and said, “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to get to know each other better so you can decide how you feel about it.”

After the group session, Connor and Markus had talked quite a lot, so much so that when they left, Markus walked out of the building with Connor and asked him for something that nobody had ever asked Connor for before.

“What’s your number?” Markus asked while scratching his arm over his jacket. He did that a lot, Connor noticed. It wasn’t such a strange action, and maybe nobody else would pick up on it, but Connor did.

“My number?” Connor asked confusedly. Was Markus asking him for his serial number? What an odd question, he thought.

For a brief moment, Connor almost considered telling him, but then Markus said, “Yeah! Your phone number, what is it?”

“Oh!” Connor said, surprised. He’d meant _a phone number._ “I do not have one of those.”

“You don’t have a cellphone?” Markus exclaimed, a big smile on his face. He wasn’t being judging, Connor decided, and was mostly just being theatrical to tease him.

“No…should I?” Connor asked. Was this something that he needed to fit in? If so, maybe he should have one. That would make him more able to communicate with possible friends.

“Hell no, they suck the life out of you.” Markus said jokingly. “I’d get rid of mine if I thought I could live without it.” He laughed. “Do you have a house phone?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, come here.” Markus said, and pulled out a green marker. Markus seemed to like the color green. 

On Connor's right hand, Markus wrote down a number on the top of it.

“There." He said. "So we can call each other.”

Connor looked down at the number on his hand, and then back up to see that Markus had walked away from him and had thrown up his right hand, and said, "Later, Connor!"

That night, hours after he'd gotten home, Connor pondered over whether or not he should call, and thought maybe it was too soon to do something like that, as they had only just met. But, he decided that if he didn't do it now, he'd never work up the nerve to do it later. So, he made his way over to the old landline that Hank had positioned in between the kitchen and living room, one of those older styles that hung on the wall, and was connected by a loopy cord.

He dialed Markus's number, and it felt like it rang forever before he finally picked up.

At first, nobody spoke, but Connor could hear shallow breathing on the other end, so he knew somebody must be there. He was the first to speak.

“Hello?”

“Hi.

“Markus?”

“Yes…Connor?”

“You recognized me by only hearing my voice?”

“Oh, yeah,” Markus exclaimed, his half-interest, half-disinterest evident through the receiver. “Of course.”

Connor wasn’t sure how he stood with Markus, because his new friend – well, friend is used lightly here – was such a nonchalant mystery. You never knew if he was so comfortable around you that he could be casual or if he was bored to tears of you and wasn’t afraid to show it.

Connor wasn’t sure yet which he would prefer: Being on the good side, the friend side, of Markus…or the bad one. Bad one here meaning the indifferent one, as Connor would sooner be ignored by Markus than make an enemy out of him. There was the possibility that Markus was only being nice out of courtesy, or was perhaps exchanging niceties in a ploy to lull Connor into a false sense of security in order to lead him to some kind of humorous betrayal of his trust – ala _Carrie_ – but Connor hadn’t decided yet if that were the truth.

“Should I not have called so soon?” Connor asked worriedly. Despite having his fair share of reasonable and intelligently founded skepticism of the people around him, he was still self-conscious of how he was perceived by others, and his own social ineptitude did him no favors.

Even if Markus _were_ playing him, Connor wasn’t sure yet if he truly cared. A friend is a friend, no matter if they secretly hate you. Hank told Connor that he shouldn’t be thinking like that, and that Connor shouldn’t be “handing out friendship tokens like they don’t matter,” but with so few friends to call his own, Connor wasn’t sure if he knew how to tell the difference anyway, between someone who truly cared for him and someone who was only pretending to.

“No, you have perfect timing, actually.” Markus assured, and Connor hoped that Markus was being honest, and not just being kind to spare his feelings. “I was about to head out with some friends, you want to cop on with us?”

Connor bit his lip, though never hard enough to break skin, as his synthetic skin was tough enough to not be torn so easily. “I…am not sure.” He said, and he looked behind him to where Hank was sitting on the couch reading a book. “I think I will need permission.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Markus said, and he sounded understanding enough. Connor was liking him more and more with every word. He sounded like a friend, he looked like a friend…was it so wrong to say that Markus was perhaps, shaped like a friend? Connor had heard that once, and he believed that it was an appropriate statement to describe Markus.

Connor pulled the phone down from his ear and covered the receiver.

“Hank, a boy from the group meeting, he wants to know if I can go hang out with him?”

Hank looked to the large circular clock which hung above the TV in the living room, furrowed his brow, and asked, “At nine-forty-seven at night?”

Connor nodded, and then quickly turned back to the phone, holding it with both hands up to his ear, and saying, “My dad says that this is an odd hour to be going out.”

Hank scoffed humorously at how Connor had filled in the blanks in his explanation, assuming exactly what Hank had really meant when he had exclaimed the time.

Markus laughed slightly at what Connor had said, a very genuine laugh, one that Connor could tell was real, and then Markus shot back with, “Yeah, well…tell your dad that nobody ever had any fun without a little darkness.”

Connor nodded and dropped the phone again, covering the receiver with his hand and looking back up to Hank. “He said ‘nobody ever had any fun without a little darkness.’”

Hank raised his brow in a humored ‘of course he did’ look, and said, “Oh yeah? Well, tell your friend he sounds like a little shit.”

“I would rather not repeat that.” Connor stated flatly. He was most definitely not going to say something like that to his new friend.

Hank sighed and stayed silent for a few moments, looking Connor’s face over for a few moments, and then saying, in a more serious, caring tone, “You really want to go?”

“Yes…” Connor said quietly, bowing his head slightly at his words to show affirmation, “I do.”

Hank bit the inside of his lip, and then put his hands up, “Alright…you can go, just, make sure you keep me updated, okay? Use his cellphone to call me, text me, anything. I just want to know that you’re safe.”

Connor smiled brightly, and then turned back to the phone and said happily, “He said I can go.”

“Oh, sweet!” Markus said. “We’ll be there to pick you up in – actually, where do you live?”

“115 Michigan Drive. It’s the red-brick apartment, we live in the bottom half, and the entrance is in the front.”

“Awesome,” Markus said. Connor could hear the smile in the other boy’s tone. “We’ll be there soon.”

Connor returned the phone to it’s docking station on the wall, and let the cord fall down. He turned back to Hank when he heard the man speak.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” Hank asked worriedly. The man was always so very nervous about Connor out in the world, especially by himself. Despite being the one who had encouraged him to get out there, Hank was having a difficult time letting him go.

“Yes,” Connor said with a nod. “I will.”

“Come here.” Hank said, and Connor did so, crossing the room and letting himself be pulled into a tight hug by the older man. He reciprocated by wrapping his arms around Hank in return.

“I know it hasn’t been easy,” Hank said quietly. “But I…I just want you to know how much I care about you, Connor, and that…I just want to know that you’re safe, wherever you are. Okay?”

“I know you do.” Connor said, he cheek pressed against Hank’s shoulder. “I promise I will call if I need anything.”

When they pulled away, Hank held his left arm out on Connor’s shoulder protectively, and said, “And you trust this guy? You only just met him today.”

“He seems nice,” Connor said. “And, you did say that I should meet new people.”

“Yeah, well…I’m not sure this is really what I meant.” Hank mumbled, and Connor looked at him with that same wide-eyed look he always seemed to have.

“What did you mean?” Connor asked

“I meant, well…it doesn’t matter.” Hank shook his head, forgetting the topic. “I just want you to be happy."

Markus showed up at the house about twenty minutes later, and walked up to the door and knocked, waiting for Connor to say his goodbyes and then head out with this relative stranger. Connor looked back once to see that Hank was peeking out the living room window and watching them as they walked away, and he smiled to himself at the thought that Hank cared so much.

When they got to the car, it was surprisingly humble, and definitely old. It was like an old family station-wagon from the seventies. Connor decided that he liked it, but, if he were being honest, he would’ve liked anything that Markus had shown up in.

Markus opened up the passenger’s side door and leaned down to look inside the vehicle.

“Crew, this is Connor.” He said, talking to the people already inside. “Connor, this is the crew.”

Markus moved aside so that Connor could get in, and then Markus headed around to the driver’s side.

In the backseat, there were three other people, one girl and two guys.

The girl, who was sitting directly behind the passenger’s seat, had long, red hair that was straight, but a little messy, and she had a winter beanie pulled overtop it for the cold. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt.

Next to her was a pale, blonde boy with extremely blue eyes. Even in the dark of the car, Connor could see that. The boy kind of smiled at him, though he seemed sad, crestfallen, tired.

And the furthest from the passenger’s side door, sitting closest to the left side of the vehicle, was an undeniably tall and lanky young black man, his legs so long that they were scrunched up in front of him behind the driver’s seat.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Josh.” The third of them said. He was the first to break to silence, the first to initiate contact. Connor decided he liked him the best, based on first impressions.

The others followed his lead and quietly introduced themselves as well.

“Simon.”

“North.”

Connor closed the door and fully got comfortable in his seat, well, as comfortable as he could get in a car full of strangers.

“You guys ready?” Markus asked, turning back to look at them behind him.

“And, where are we going, exactly?” North asked, and she sounded a bit irritated almost. Kind of like this trip had been impromptu, possibly pulling her away from whatever she’d been doing prior. Markus did seem like the impulsive type, not planning ahead and instead just springing sudden plans on his friends like they existed just to adhere to his every beckon call.

“Wherever the night takes us!” Markus exclaimed, and then turned the key in the ignition, where to car hummed into a gentle vibration.

“Ugh, you always say that.” North sighed and leaned back in her seat. “Next time, we take my car. Or better yet, we just don’t invite you, Markus.”

“That’s a low blow, girl.” Markus said amusedly. “That’s a low blow.”

Markus didn’t put on his seatbelt, either, just like the girl. Connor noticed this and then hesitated for a moment before reaching up and fastening his own seatbelt over himself. It’s what Hank would want, and even if Hank weren’t here right now, Connor wanted to be safe.

Markus grinned slightly at this, noticing Connor’s apparent stickler-ness for the rules, but said nothing about it.

They pulled away from the house then, and began to drive away. The reality of the situation suddenly dawned on Connor, and he felt so very nervous to actually be away from Hank for the very first time. They’d been apart before, but never like this, never so unhinged, unscheduled.

“How old are all of you?” Connor asked, trying to come up with conversational topics.

“I’m twenty-three,” Markus said, gesturing to himself. “North and Simon are both twenty, and Josh is twenty-four. How old are you?”

“…Nineteen?” Connor said this with as much assuredness as somebody who had to make up an alias on the spot. Markus gave him a brief, questioning look, a quirk of a smile on the corner of his lips. He didn’t seem skeptical of Connor’s answer, more so of Connor’s inherent awkwardness.

Markus turned back to the wheel, and said, “You’re like a baby, then.”

Connor didn’t know how to feel about this comment, wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. Maybe both? He wasn’t sure, so he just ignored it, and asked a different one. “How do you all know each other?”

“Josh and I – well, what a riveting story that is.” Markus was amplifying the theatrics jokingly, mimicking – but not mocking – the professional way in which Connor always spoke, though Connor did not catch this.

“Good ol’ Joshy boy and I were on our way to medical school, weren’t we?”

Josh scoffed behind Markus. Connor decided that this must be an obvious point of contention, one in which Josh took seriously, but Markus apparently did not.

“That was until good ol’ Marky boy got himself kicked out.” Josh shot back, mimicking his tone.

“What did he do?” Connor asked curiously.

Josh exchanged a look with Markus through the rear-view mirror, and then his tone changed suddenly. “He was just being an ass, as usual. I almost lost my scholarship because of him.”

Whatever Josh was originally going to say, he must’ve dropped because of whatever look Markus gave him. Connor thought to ask Markus about this later, about what really happened, since nobody here was apparently going to tell him.

“I’m still in school,” Josh said. “But right now I’m shadowing as an assistant professor at Wayne State.”

“Is it appropriate for an assistant professor to be out partying on a school night?” Connor asked.

“I don’t drink while I’m out, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Josh said. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care so much about Markus. Can’t let him get himself killed or anything. We grew up together, so…here I am. That’s all there is to know.”

“Josh is a respectable citizen of the law,” Markus teased. “Unlike me, who is an unrespectable hooligan of Hell, according to some.”

Josh scoffed and then looked out the window nearest him, where he had his elbow propped up against it to lean on his hand.

“North works at Hooters.” Markus said with a laugh and a wink just to Connor.

Connor looked back at her suddenly as she called out defensively, “I do not!” She huffed and leaned back in the seat again, looking out the window. He turned back to Markus.

“Hooters?” Connor asked curiously. He’d never heard of this before.

 _“You don’t know what Hooters is?”_ Markus raised his eyebrows and smiled like he couldn’t believe it. “Oh my god, we have so much to show you.”

Connor didn't know what to make of this, and the confused look on his face must've been apparent, because Markus dropped the act for a second to actually explain.

“North is an engineering student at the University of Detroit Mercy, and Simon does art.” Markus continued. “They’re roommates.”

Simon didn’t seem to speak much, or at all, and Connor wondered if he was just shy, or if he felt quite bulldozed by the bigger personalities in the group.

“UDM is a quaint little Roman-Catholic school…” Markus explained. “So I’m sure North would be scorned by God if He knew what she got up to when she put down her Bible and got on the pole.”

“Oh, fuck off, Markus.” North said. “You’re just jealous because we’re still in school and you’re just a drop-out. We’ll all be moving on in a few years, but you’ll still be here, living with your dad or giving blowjobs on the street for a hit.”

“I don’t think that’s true, North.” Markus retorted, gazing back at her through the rear-view mirror and smiling emptily.

“Oh, yeah?” North mocked sarcastically. “And where’ll you be, huh?”

“Dead, probably.” Markus said, and his eyes glimmered in the lights of the cars that drove past, the bright headlights giving them the only life that they had ever known.

Nobody said anything after that. Their banter was rough, but never scornful in a truly malicious way. But Markus’s words had hit too close to home, Connor decided, and after that, it wasn’t so much fun anymore. Everybody stayed quiet, and the tension was disgustingly thick. Connor felt he might choke on it, metaphorically, at least.  

After about four or five minutes of complete silence, the car pulled into a darkened parking lot, the only sound having been the ever so slight hum of the car heater. They stopped moving, and Markus turned the key in the ignition off.

“We’re here.” He said, and then put his arm around Connor’s seat and turned to look into the backseat. “Welcome back, riders. Please see to the exits on the left and right sides of the cart and proceed with caution. Have a wonderful night!”

“You’re so full of shit, Markus.” North said coldly, not at all taking to Markus’s newfound humored tone. She was still upset about what Markus had said before, and being dead. She got out of the car quickly and shut the door without another word to any of them, and they all just watched her go.

“You know she doesn’t like when you talk like that.” Josh said. Simon stayed silent, and instead looked down at his hands in his lap.

“Oh, and just when I thought we were having so much fun!” Markus exclaimed sarcastically, and then rolled his eyes.

“Why can’t you just take one thing seriously in your life for a change?” Josh said, irritated, and then he too got out of the car.

Simon sighed lightly, and then gave Markus a deeply sympathetic look before exiting the car without a word behind Josh.

Markus’s face fell once they were all out, and it was only Connor left with him, completely unsure what he was supposed to do here. They all obviously have history and an established friend dynamic, and Connor wasn’t sure where at all he fit into that.

“…Sorry, about that.” Markus said, his hands held together in his lap. His posture had fallen slightly, and he was staring straight forward. In a way, Connor wondered if he was…embarrassed?

“It’s okay.” Connor said. But was it? He didn’t know. But he also didn’t know what else to say. He asked next what he thought Hank might ask in this situation, though it was usually accompanied by hot chocolate and the comfort of their home. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Markus breathed out deeply, and then pulled a sort of strained look on face, like he was in pain. Mental or physical, Connor wasn’t sure, but it seemed like more of a mental strain to him, if he had to guess. “No,” Markus said. “It’s fine.”

He composed himself quickly after that, and replaced the solemn look on his face with one of simulated happiness and contentment. If he hadn’t just witnessed what had gone down in the car, Connor wouldn’t have been able to tell that Markus was anything but exuberant.

“I’m just glad you’re here, Connor.” He said with that genuine smile again, one that promised immediate care and friendship. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Connor asked quickly, but Markus was already halfway out of the vehicle before he could get his answer.

Connor got out quickly to follow Markus, shutting the door behind him and trailing quietly behind his friend as they approached the others.

The three of them were sitting on the curb of the parking lot, near the sidewalk. North had her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, and Simon had his hands in his pockets. Josh had his legs stretched out, and was looking down at his sneakers. All three of them were breathing out puffs of warmed air into the chill of the night.

“Come on, gang!” Markus called out to them. “The night is young! The moon is full! I can already feel my werewolf powers strengthening!” He held up his left arm and flexed it dramatically and squeezed it with his right hand.

“Where’d you pick up the stray?” North asked. Connor realized that she was talking about him.

“Ah!” Markus said, and then put his left hand on Connor’s shoulder, which he immediately shrugged off awkwardly, not wanting to be touched. North let out a quick laugh at Markus’s rejection by Connor, but Markus recovered quickly and used his hands to refer to Connor instead without touching him. “He…is our newest recruit. I met him in group this week.”

The three of them nodded, and then said nothing more. Simon was using a stick to push a stone around on the ground, and Josh was looking up at the stars. North was the only one still staring at him. It was like she didn’t care if he knew she was looking or not, and she wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous at all. Connor had never met anyone who so willfully didn’t care about staring. He tried to pretend that he didn’t notice.

“So, we gonna skate or what?” Markus asked, holding up his arms in anticipation. Josh sighed and then stood up, then turned back to help Simon up from the curb, pulling him up and dusting him off like an older brother grooming a younger sibling. North refused Josh’s hand when he held it out to her, and got herself up on her own.

By _skate_ , Markus had meant skateboarding, and not roller-skating like Connor had initially imagined. When the four of them had returned to the trunk of Markus’s car for their boards, Connor stood awkwardly off to the side, not at all sure what he was supposed to do. He was obviously intruding on their friend group dynamic, and felt exceptionally out of place here.

Everybody skated around the parking lot for a little while. It was large and empty, so it made sense why they’d come here. Since it was on the outskirts of the city, nobody else would show up, and they wouldn’t be caught. There may not have been any skate equipment here, but at least they wouldn’t get busted, and they could be alone.

When Markus asked if Connor wanted to try, he politely declined and assured Markus that he preferred watching. And he truly did. Maybe one day, but not today. Well, if there was a _one day._ Connor wasn’t sure if hanging out with Markus was a one-off, or if they’d do it again some time.

Simon was the best at it, because he was the shortest of the lot, and Josh was the worst – well, he was still pretty good, just not _as_ good as the others – because he was the tallest. But, by Connor’s standards, they were all _really_ good. Better than he could ever be at something like this.

Later, while the others were still skating all around the parking lot, Markus came over to Connor and asked if he wanted to go sit with him on the nearby bridge.

While they were walking over, across the parking lot, Connor asked, “Are you always like this?”

“Always like what?” Markus asked, smiling slightly at the odd insinuation, and obviously curious what Connor was getting at.

“Pretending.” Connor said.

“Pretending?” Markus repeated with a faint smile still. This was obviously a strange thing to hear, especially from a stranger.

“You aren’t being genuine.” Connor stated. “I can tell.”

“Oh yeah?” Markus asked amusedly. “And what am I really?”

“Lonely.”

It wasn’t so funny to Markus anymore, after that, not so much of a fun little jest. His smile fell, and that look came back to him, like there was nothing at all behind the person that he pretended to be.

“You’re afraid to realize that you aren't as good as you think you are,” Connor continued, unsure if he was overstepping a boundary or not. “So you give up before you can win or lose. You don’t want anybody else to treat you badly, so you do it to yourself first. You don’t want to be fade away; you want to burn out first before you ever let yourself be no one.”

Markus didn’t say anything at all, and Connor had no idea how these words had come across. He instantly regretted them, as his new friend – or rather, acquaintance – hadn’t seemed to take too kindly to hearing criticisms of his character. This was all just what was running through Connor’s head, of course, since he had no idea what Markus was actually thinking.

“Why do you talk like that to your friends?” Connor asked curiously. A slightly different topic, but still running in the same vein.

“I don’t know…” Markus said quietly, honestly. They continued making their way across the parking lot, the sounds of the boards still skating across the pavement behind them. “I guess I don’t mean to, but…my mouth speaks faster than my brain can think.”

“You’re lying.” Connor stated, and Markus was taken aback by this. “That isn’t why you do it.”

Markus eyed him curiously, but he didn’t seem upset with being called out like that. Maybe what he really needed was somebody who’d call him out, but also try to understand things from his perspective.

“You’re right…” Markus said, chewing his left and right cheek, respectively, like he couldn’t decide which one would fulfill his anxious need. “I think I’m just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Connor asked.

“Of being forgotten.”

No more need be said. Connor got it. Markus acted out because he was afraid to be unseen, afraid to pass by unnoticed. And if his way of being known was by making a total ass of himself, so be it. Markus would rather burn out than fade away.

Even though Markus expresses himself in a way that might be too overbearingly extroverted than most people would like, Connor almost looked at him in awe. The way Markus was so out there, Connor wished that he too could be seen in the way that Markus is seen. When Markus walks into a room, people truly see him. They don’t just stare, they _see_.

When they finally got to the end of the parking lot, they turned to the left into a thin area in between some trees and a complete drop-off the other side.

The actual bridge was only about fifteen-feet long, and connected the parking lot to a small park on the other side. It was actually a _bridge_ bridge, instead just the top walkway over an overpass tunnel.

Looking out over the drop-off edge, there was a long and darkened road, sheltered on both sides by a thick wood, a road which led off away from them into a private neighborhood in the distance that could barely be seen at this time of night. Street and porch lights from that housing area were the only things lighting the bridge in the darkness. Heading beneath the bridge, there was a stone tunnel underpass, one which was a good few hundred feet long, and came out again somewhere on the other side of the parking lot. To their left, at the same level as they were, standing on the bridge, were train tracks.

Markus teetered on the edge of the bridge, with his arms held out on both sides like wings, trying to keep his balance. He was very wobbly, and wasn’t the best at keeping himself straight. Connor was worried that he’d fall, but at the same time, was curious what might happen if he did. When a human falls from a great height – though this particular height was quite small – what would it be like?

The two of them sat down on the edge together, Markus on the left and Connor on the right, and let their legs dangle down.

“Maybe I’m just crazy.” Markus said, dismissing himself and his emotions with a shake of his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Connor said back, and Markus looked up at him from the road. “Craziness isn’t a party trick, Markus.” Connor continued. “Also, a crazy person wouldn’t know they were crazy. I think that’s in the definition.”

Markus laughed a little bit at this, seeming to cheer up slightly, and Connor smiled to at his own joke, being glad that it worked.

"Where were you to talk to before I fucked my life up so bad?” Markus asked jokingly, and he leaned playfully into Connor’s shoulder.

“Everything is fixable.” Connor said. He didn’t know if he believed that, but, he wanted to say it anyway, to help Markus feel better.

Down the road, a single car drove closer and closer, and then passed beneath them. The tunnel rumbled slightly and Connor could feel the vibrations as the car went through the underpass.

“Easier said than done.” Markus stated, and Connor couldn’t dispute that. It really was easier in theory than in reality. But, maybe if he said it enough times, it would become true.

“What about you?” Markus asked then. “Why are you in with Amanda?”

“You mean Dr. Stern?” Connor clarified. He knew who Markus had meant, but it was strange to hear someone call her by her first name.

“If that’s what you want to call her, sure.”

“I…” Connor hesitated. Markus may have been okay with pouring his heart out to a relative stranger, but Connor wasn’t so ready to do that quite yet. “Just needed somebody to talk to. That is all.”

“Hmph…” Markus pursed his lips, and then nodded. He didn’t pry. Connor was thankful for that.

“Aren’t you cold?” Markus asked, and Connor was momentarily at a loss. He had only just realized that he hadn’t worn a jacket, and since changes in temperature didn’t matter much to him, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Oh, um…” Connor began, not sure how to explain this away, but Markus was already taking off his own jacket, slipping out of the sleeves and handing it over to Connor.

“Here,” Markus said, smiling. “Take mine, you’ll catch a cold.”

“Colds are actually caused by viruses in the air.” Connor said quickly, not understanding why Markus would say such a thing. Markus just shook his head amusedly, and put the jacket over Connor’s shoulders before Connor could turn down the offer.

“Humor me, then.” Markus said, and squeezed Connor’s shoulder, lightly. This time, he didn’t pull away from the touch. It was nice, and he appreciated it.

Markus looked back out to the road and rubbed his hands together for warmth. Now _he_ was cold. Connor didn’t understand why he had done that, why he had given away his own warmth in favor of Connor’s. Connor looked down at Markus’s now bare arms and saw little dark marks in the crook of his left elbow, reddish little dots, like he’d gotten many shots. When Markus noticed that Connor was looking, he crossed his arms to cover them.

“I come here a lot.” Markus said, changing the subject, though Connor was still thinking about those marks. “To be alone.”

“You don’t want your friends here with you?” Connor asked, but Markus shook his head to say no.

“I don’t think they’d understand.” Markus said with a slight shrug of his shoulders, still looking out emptily over the road. Connor followed his gaze, yet saw nothing of note.

“Sometimes…we don’t want to be understood.”

Markus looked up at those words from Connor, and met Connor’s eyes with his own, his own eyes with those pupils that, even in all this darkness, were still strangely narrowed in like pinpoints. It made Connor feel like Markus wasn’t really all there, mentally.

“What do you mean?” Markus asked.

“My dad told me…told me that sometimes we just want somebody to listen. And even if they don’t get it, don’t understand…at least somebody heard you say it.”

Connor looked out to the road again.

“There are a lot of things I don’t understand.” Connor said. “But I’m trying my best to listen, to them, and to myself.”

“I thought I understood people…” Markus said quietly. “But I don’t understand _anything_.”

“What don’t you understand?” Connor asked, looking over to him.

“How I’m even a person at all.” Markus said, exasperated at his own words. “After everything I’ve been through, I don’t feel much like one. Not anymore.”

“What changed?” Connor asked, and Markus scoffed humorously. Nothing was funny, and it was more self-deprecating than anything.

“That’s the thing.” Markus said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know if I changed. I’ve felt like this for so long that I can’t remember what it was like before. I haven’t felt real in a long time, and now, I don’t know if I ever was.”

“When the sun isn’t out, we may not be able to see it, but, we can remember what it felt like.” Connor said. This was not a sentiment he could’ve related to months ago, but now, he was secretly happy that he could say this out loud, and have it be true. Feeling the sun on his skin, it was a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing that he hoped he would never forget.

Markus scoffed lightly, like a laugh, and then said, “Not if you’re numb.”

Connor didn’t know how to respond to this, because no matter what he said, Markus seemed determined to find a way to one-up him with something equally depressing. Two sides of the same coin. Both of them were right _and_ wrong.

“Good things don’t feel like good things anymore.” Markus said. “I feel like getting hit by a car and getting married are worth the same shit to me. I don’t feel like I have any positives to make the negatives actually seem _bad_.”

Connor listened, opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came to mind, so he closed it again.

“That probably doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Markus said, noticing the way that Connor seemed at a loss for words. It was more of a rhetorical statement to himself than an actual question, but Connor answered back anyway.

“No,” Connor said, looking right at Markus when he did so. “I understand.”

Markus looked up at him from the street, and asked, “You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised to hear this. He must be used to not being listened to, to not being heard.

“Yeah, I do. Hope is important, but, when you don’t even want the good things, that’s when you know it’s really bad. Not anger, or hate, not love, or happiness…but indifference. When you don’t care whether you live or die, because either way, you’re still numb inside.”

“So, what do we do, then?” Markus asked. “When we feel like that.”

“Take lots of naps. That’s what I do.” Connor said, trying to lighten the mood, but also being serious. He _did_ take a lot of naps, that was true. “I have to keep hoping I’ll be okay. It’s all I have.”

Markus looked at him like he’d never been looked at before. In absolute wonder. Not at his inhumanness, but at his mind, at his words. Connor was so used to being gawked at for his physicality, it was a welcome change to be heard for what he had to say, for what he felt like inside.

“You seem like you’ve got it all figured out, Connor.” Markus said incredulously, and then looked back down at those empty streets. “I wish I did, too.”

“I am mostly just repeating things that have been said to me by other people. But, I hope that in repeating them, they can become true, eventually.”

They sat in comfortable silence then, for a few moments, watching the few cars that passed from beneath the bridge, and into it. Markus would occasionally look over at him, but when Connor turned to look back, Markus would turn away. 

Connor felt so very cold. Not physically, but in his heart. Everything weighed so heavy, and he suddenly got such a foreboding feeling, like life fell on him all at once.

“Where do we go, when everything we've known is gone?” Connor asked, looking up from the street and out into the distance. He stared down the neighborhood far away, and wondered what the people who lived there might be doing right now.

“...It’s like you’re in my head right now.” Markus stated, but his words lacked humor, despite suggesting a jest.

“I don’t know who to turn to when everything feels so changeable.” Connor said, his own words so unassured. He felt so vulnerable. He wants to be strong, but, who is he being strong for?

“I don’t know either, Connor.” Markus’s voice sounded imperceptibly shaky, but only just so that he must’ve been holding back. “I really don’t know.”

“I don’t know how to feel alive when I’ve spent so long feeling alone.” Connor said. He couldn’t believe that those words had come out of his own mouth, couldn’t believe that he was able to say in a few hours to a stranger what he wasn’t able to say to Hank yet.

Maybe it was because he’d never been around somebody like him, somebody like a peer, just a friend. Nothing more and nothing less. There were no expectations, and, now that he thought about it, Markus was the first true person who had come into his life and not known anything about him at all.

_Markus truly believes him to be human._

And has no idea about anything at all that’s happened. Not even the good parts. Not even the bad. Not even the love. Not even the hate.

And Connor…likes it this way. Likes the not knowing, the being able to start over with a new person. It’s kind of exciting, the thought of being at square one with somebody, where you’re able to become whoever you want to be in their eyes, shape yourself to come across however you may like. Connor’s never had that before. Never been free from preconceptions, careless trust, pride.

“What do _you_ do to feel better?” Connor asked, sending the question back to Markus, curious to hear what he’d say in response.

“Jerk-off, mostly.” Markus said with a short laugh, but when he noticed that Connor hadn’t found it funny, he put out his hands and added, “I’m kidding. It’s not a bad idea, though.”

Connor stayed silent, suddenly feeling so very awkward, his cheeks pink. He looked away because he didn’t want to talk about this. But Markus noticed how suddenly his vibe had changed.

“Have you never…” Markus made a jerking-off motion at his crotch, his mouth wide open, almost smiling. “It seems we have an innocent child in our presence, ladies and gentlemen.” He said dramatically aloud to no one, since they were the only two there. He leaned over and covered Connor’s ears.

 _“Stop.”_ Connor pulled Markus’ hands off of his ears, not wanting to be touched and taunted, and then wrapped his arms around himself.

Markus dropped the act immediately. If nothing else, he could pick up on other people’s vibes, and he knew where to draw the line, mostly. From what Connor had seen, Markus could be a bit of a prick sometimes, but he wasn’t unreasonable, and even if the man couldn’t be bothered to do anything that didn’t suit his whim, he wasn’t a bad person.

It was a touchy subject, one that made Connor nervous to approach, made his nerves instantly shoot at the mere insinuation of anything related to his body or sex. He felt like his skin was shaking all over, so much so that it would slip off his bones and fall down onto the road below them, leaving him a fearful mess of metal and plastic. He wasn’t really shaking that much, but it sure did feel like it.

“Hey,” Markus said softly, gently, and that made Connor look up. “You want to go for a walk?”

Normally, Connor would guess that this was a deflection tactic, meant to avoid difficult subjects…but in this case, it was exactly what Connor wanted and needed. To be left alone, to feel like his own awkwardness hadn’t ruined the moment. Markus had just brushed it off and moved on, treated him like a person and made him feel like he was normal. Didn’t make him feel like he was weird or abnormal.

Connor smiled lightly and unwrapped his arms from around himself, nodding in approval of the walk, and said, “Okay.”

Markus, from his now standing position, held out his hand for Connor to grab, and he did so, being pulled to his feet and then brushing off his pants from where he’d sat.

They began across the parking lot together, Markus walking slowly and Connor keeping the same pace beside him, to his left. Markus put his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Do you ever feel like you can see the future?” Markus asked all of a sudden.

“In what way?” Connor asked, seeking to clarify what Markus had meant.

Markus didn’t respond right away, and seemed to be struggling with how to articulate the feeling, and then, he said, “It’s like…like you just _know_ …so you’re never surprised about anything, because in some way, you always felt like it was all gonna be shit anyway.”

“I'm...not sure.” Connor said blankly, not entirely understanding what Markus was getting at.

Had he truly meant foreseeing the future? Or had he meant feeling pessimistic? Expecting the worst so that, when the worst happens, you’re never disappointed. In the case of the latter, yes, Markus was obviously not a brightly shining optimist, that much was for sure.

“You’ve never just had a gut feeling, that…that everything’s already been planned out to end badly, so you might at well not even try?” Markus said, and then nodded, mostly to himself at his own words, and repeated, “Might as well not even try…”

These words made Connor feel nervous, sick almost, deep in his stomach, like they were a silent but swift punch to the gut, from the inside out. He didn’t like that feeling, like every happy feeling he’d built up in his life had faded away in an instant, like somebody had passed over his grave. It was such a lonely feeling, like even though he was here, physically, with Markus…he was alone.

In death, he would be alone. But he hoped that in life, he wouldn’t be.

“You want to get something to eat?” Markus asked, changing the subject again. He jumped from topic to topic like he couldn’t be bothered to stay on the same one for more than a few minutes at a time.

Connor didn’t say anything else, instead following his new companion wherever the night took them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Where will I go?_   
>  _When the only home I've known is ashes now, now._   
>  _How will I know?_   
>  _When the only love I'm shown is so changeable._   
>  _How do I grow then?_   
>  _When I've been alive for the best part of my life feeling alone._   
>  _Feeling alone with you._   
>  _Without you._


	4. Santa Monica Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Angus & Julia Stone's song of the same name. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xc9FSKJ4pAo

N O V E M B E R 

“Hey, Connor! Funny meeting you here.”

Markus had the passenger's side car window rolled down and was half leaning over into the passenger’s seat, calling out to Connor with a wide and toothy smile as the younger man stood on the front lawn of Hank’s apartment. The corners of Markus’s eyes crinkled up, and Connor felt cared for when he received those kinds of smiles. Connor had just gone out to get the mail to find Markus and the others already waiting for him to walk outside.

Connor wondered why it was so quote-unquote “funny” to have met him there. It was his own home, after all. Shouldn’t Markus have known this?

“Give me one second and I’ll be back out,” Connor said politely to Markus as he waited for a response. “Or, rather, a few _minutes_. It isn’t possible to do what I need to do in only one single second.”

Markus nodded at this, gave Connor a mock-serious salute to wave him off, then smiled again as he turned back to the wheel, placing his hands softly onto it.

It’d been a little over a month now, and Connor had been spending almost every day with his new friends.

Yes, friends. He decided that they were at a level now that he could call them that, maybe not completely comfortably, but still, friends, all the same.

He rolled that word around in his mouth like a jawbreaker, afraid to bite down on it and hurt his teeth. _Friends_. When would the jawbreaker disappear, he wondered? Melt away in his mouth and leave behind a dry, bitter sweetness? When would this time with his friends run out?

He now knew everyone’s last names. Josh Sanders, Simon Baker, and North – her real name was Rachel, Rachel James.

And Markus Manfred.

Connor never expected that one. For Markus to come from such an…affluent family. Connor had learned who Markus’s famous father was from Hank, who immediately knew who Connor was talking about when he’d mentioned the surname _Manfred_ to him a few weeks prior, after getting to know Markus better.

Markus also told him that he had a brother the same age as him – Leo – but that they didn't really get along so well because Leo was Carl’s birth son, but Markus was adopted.

Markus is older, but didn’t join the family until he was fifteen, which was pretty late in terms of typical adoption. At this point, Leo, who was fourteen, had already gotten involved in a bad scene – drugs, alcohol, the works – and had been sent away to spend some time in rehab. While Leo was away, Carl took Markus in at first as a foster child, then formally adopted him a few months later, on his sixteenth birthday.

Needless to say, when Leo finally returned home to his father to see that he had all but been replaced as a son, it didn’t go over well.

Markus tells Connor often that he thinks Leo doesn’t like him because Carl sees Markus as the son he should’ve had. Not that Markus has been proper all his life, by any means. But Leo isn’t as good at hiding his flaws as Markus is. Leo is rude, and impulsive, and makes his grievances known. Markus “ruins his life secretly,” or so he says. Connor doesn’t know which is better to be. To struggle, but be open about it, or to suffer in silence so as to not drag other people down with you.

Given that Markus is in his counseling group, it’s obvious that there are some kinds of issues there. What they are, though, Connor doesn’t know. And Markus isn’t telling yet.

Over the course of the past month, North had grown on Connor, becoming slowly but surely kinder to him than when they first met. He realized quickly that it wasn’t that she was inherently mean or distant, it was just that there was a lot of tension in the group, and he had met them for the first time on the wrong foot. It was a wrong foot put down by Markus, of course, but it was a wrong foot that had tripped Connor up, giving him a bad first impression of them.

Simon talks all the time now, and Connor realized that it’s practically all he does. And he now knows why Simon was so moody when they’d first met. Apparently, he and Markus are “kind of a thing” – Markus’s words, not Connor’s. On again, off again…on again, off again.

Currently, on again. Hence why Simon had seemed so happy these past few weeks. They’d gotten together again a few days after the time they all went skating.

Connor often wonders why Josh even hangs out with them at all, given that he’s en route to becoming a licensed doctor, and also that he’s twenty-four, which is usually the age for people to start “adulting”, as Markus so aptly calls it.

In a way, Connor felt like he’d slipped right into the dynamic of their group, fulfilling the role of the awkward fifth person perfectly. He was different from them, but they accepted him in and made him feel welcome, didn’t make him feel different for not understanding some things or acting oddly sometimes.  

Though Connor wasn’t always sure that he liked what things his new friends did, like college parties or going out at night all the time, hearing them talk about drinking and smoking – he still wanted to feel included, though, so he tagged along with whatever they got themselves into.

Every few days, they’d usually spend a couple of hours at the skatepark, at least until it got locked off at night, then they’d all flee to the streets to find someplace else to skate.

That’s where Connor had met Luther and Kara, who were both extremely nice and not at all who he had expected to be at a skatepark. They actually weren’t there skating, and had instead ridden their bikes into the park and set up a picnic.

Luther and Kara were his age. Kara was nineteen, like him, and Luther was eighteen.

The morning before he met them, while Markus and the others were off messing around out on the skate pavement, Connor sat on the sidelines as usual, sitting down on a nearby bench to watch and wait for them to be finished. When he felt someone tap him on the shoulder, he looked over to see a little girl with dark brown hair staring at him.

“Hello,” he said awkwardly to her, never having met a child before. He wasn’t sure what small humans were like.

“You look lonely. Are you by yourself?” she asked, leaning up on her knees beside him. He shook his head.

“I’m here with my friends,” Connor said quietly, glancing over at the four of them skating around out there. He looked back at the girl beside him, and asked, “What about you? Are you here by yourself?”

“No,” she said, and turned to point behind her at a young man and woman sitting on a blanket near a tree. “I’m here with my sister and her friend.”

“Okay,” Connor nodded, not sure what else to say, and turned away from her.

“My name is Alice,” she said, and held out her hand. Connor turned back to look at her, and cautiously accepted her hand into his. “What’s your name?”

“Connor.”

“You look sad,” she said, dropping her hand back to her side. “Do you want to come and sit with us instead?”

Connor looked back out to see his friends still out there, none of them having noticed that this girl was talking to him. He turned back, and said, “I don’t know if I should do that.”

“Why not?” she asked, quirking her head curiously.

“I don’t know,” Connor shrugged.

The girl – Alice – stared at him for a moment, seemingly gauging his response. She grabbed his hand again, and said, “Come on.”

Before he could decide what to do, Alice had stood up off the bench and was pulling him over by his hand. She didn’t seem to be letting up, so he stood to join her, and followed to where she led him to the picnic blanket near the tree that her sister and sister’s friend were sitting.

When Alice approached them with this stranger, the two sitting down looked up at her and Connor in curious question.

“Hi, sorry,” Connor said shyly to them, “She pulled me over. She said I looked lonely.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” the young woman said. “I’m Kara, and this is Luther.”

“I’m Connor.”

“Connor,” Kara said kindly. “That’s sweet. It suits you. Would you like to sit down?”

Connor looked over their blanket, at the food they had lain out, the paints and papers and crayons spread across it, and he felt so very welcome here, even though he’d never met these people before. He nodded, and Kara seemed glad that he’d said yes.

“Are you here alone?” Luther asked, taking up a paintbrush out of a glass of water and setting back to work on what he was painting in front of him.

“No,” Connor said, sitting down cross-crossed across the blanket from the other two, “I came with my friends to skate. But I don’t know how, so I’m just watching instead.”

“That’s kind of you to come with them, even though you can’t be out there skating,” Kara said, giving him a sweet smile. “Would you like to paint with us while you wait?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds nice,” Connor said, nodding, and so Kara grabbed a small canvas for him and handed it over.

“The paints are all along here,” she motioned over many different kinds of paints, watercolours, acrylics, oils. “And over here are the paint cups to wash off your brushes.”

Alice had lain down next to him on her stomach and was getting to work on her own picture again, but with the crayons instead of the paints.

Connor stayed with them for a short while, painting and learning all about these three and how Luther and Kara met in college and what sorts of classes they take there. Luther is a music student, doing vocals, and Kara is studying to be a nurse. 

About an hour later, Markus and the others walked over to retrieve Connor, and he said goodbye the three he'd just met, but only after exchanging numbers to stay in contact. 

"Who were they?" Markus asked suspiciously as they all made their way back to the car. North and Simon were talking excitedly nearby about some new movie starting the following week.

"Just some people I met," Connor said with a casual shrug. He wondered why Markus didn't seem excited that he'd met new potential friends.

"Hmph. Alright," Markus said blankly, and Connor didn't like his tone. They didn't talk about it anymore.

After they’d left the park, Markus drove them over to the nearest mall to do some Christmas shopping at Simon’s insistence. Once they’d gotten inside, they split up into two groups: North with Josh and Simon, and Connor with Markus.

Connor and Markus walked side by side down the halls of the mall, which was moderately busy on this Saturday in late November. Connor had never seen so many people all in one place at the same time, and it was equal parts exciting and intimidating. He hoped that he wouldn’t get separated from Markus and find himself lost in the crowd.

They passed nearby an Auntie Anne’s pretzel place, and Connor thought that he’d never smelled anything quite as yummy as that before, with the warmth of the buttered soft pretzels and cinnamon sugar swirling in the air around them.  

“I’ve never had a pretzel before,” Connor remarked, more so to himself than to Markus, but it peaked the older boy’s interest none the less.

“Would you like one?” Markus asked, and Connor nodded gratefully.

“Yes, please,” he said, and so they stopped for a few minutes and picked up five pretzels, one for each of them.

Connor tore off a piece of his own and tried it, and he immediately decided that it was one of his new favourite foods. Salty and sweet at the same time, still warm and soft.

“So?” Markus asked.

“Oh, I love it. It’s really good,” Connor said, and Markus seemed happy that he thought so.

From there, they continued on their way all around the different levels and halls of the mall, up and down escalators, elevators, and stopping to look in a few stores.

In one center section, there was an older, kindly looking woman sitting at a little table nearby a fake tree which had lots of little paper angels on it, all of them with a child’s name written on the card.

Markus headed straight for the table with familiarity, like he’d done this before, and Connor followed him.

“Good afternoon,” Markus said, smiling at the woman.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” she said, seeming pleased they had come up to the table. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely beautiful,” Markus agreed, turning to look at the cards on the tree. “The sun is perfect today, great day to get out.”

Connor always admired the way that Markus could talk to anyone, could make anybody feel better just by talking with them for a little while.

Markus began picking all of the little cards off the tree, and Connor furrowed his brow confusedly. “You’re taking them all?” he asked, and Markus nodded.

“Yeah…I uh…I do it every year,” Markus said with a humble shrug. “I don’t like thinking that not all of them will get chosen, so I…well, I just do them all myself.”

They met up with the others again a little while later, with both Simon and North toting a few bags each.

After they finally left the mall, the five of them drove out to the edge of the city to an old lover’s overlook, one that had room for about five cars to park side by side and look out over the city, and was blocked on the drop-off edge by an old wooden fence.

Once they’d parked and exited the car, Simon pulled a soccer ball out of the trunk, then he, Josh, and North went out into the open area behind the vehicle to kick it around. Markus and Connor didn’t join them, and went instead over to the overlook edge in front of the car and sat on top of the wooden fence.

It was sprikling slightly, the drops of water falling down and making little darkened spots on their clothes.

Markus pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one with a match. He didn’t use a lighter like Hank did. Connor found this curious. The wind was blowing fairly well that night, so the smell of the smoke was being carried away towards the cityscape.

Markus must’ve noticed Connor looking at him, so he asked casually, motioning with his hand holding the cigarette, “You want one?”

“No, I…I probably shouldn’t,” Connor said, unsure of himself in this situation. He knew that Hank wouldn’t like him smoking, but he also was curious what was so great about them.

Markus shrugged neutrally and looked back out at the streets below.

“Actually…yes,” Connor piped up, “can I…can I try?”

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it,” Markus said with a brief chuckle. He pulled a cigarette from the box and then held it up to Connor’s lips, lighting it and then sitting back to see Connor's reaction.

Connor wasn’t human, so he didn’t have any need to breathe, at least, not in the way that “real” people did, so the smoke wouldn't really affect his lungs, or make him cough.

“It tastes funny,” he said, pulling it away from his lips and blowing the smoke out.

“Damn, Con,” Markus whistled jokingly. “The first time I smoked, I nearly had an asthma attack.”

Markus pulled from his pocket an inhaler, and shook it a bit to show it to Connor.

“If you have asthma,” Connor asked, “why do you smoke?”

“Probably because I make terrible decisions.”

Connor didn’t like this answer, didn’t quite understand it, but neither of them said anything more on the subject.

The rain began to pick up then, increasingly very rapidly from a mist, to a drizzle, and then to a full-on downpour, soaking them both in seconds. 

Markus and Connor got down from the fence and jogged back to the car, where they could see the other three running back over from the nearby opening. 

All of them jumped in and Markus started the car, cranked up the heat, and they pulled out of the lover's alcove and began to make their way to Markus's house, which was the destination they all decided on retiring to after the long day they'd had. 

By the time they'd gotten to his home about fifteen minutes later, the rain had stopped for a brief moment, thankfully. The driveway curved around back to a little private area blocked by hedges, and that was where Markus parked. Everyone exited the car and began to unload the trunk. 

“Here, put this on,” Markus said to Connor, pulling out a dry sweater from the trunk of his car. “It’s getting cold. I can take your shirt and put it in the dryer.”

Connor accepted the sweater and set it on the edge of the trunk so that he could remove his own shirt. He handed it over to Markus when he had it off, and Markus whistled jokingly at the sight of Connor’s bare torso, which was decidedly small and pale.

“I dunno, Simon,” Markus said with a small smirk on his face, “Connor might have you beat for cute twink of the week.”

“What’s a twink?” Connor asked innocently as he pulled the sweater over his head. It felt good on his skin, soft, and not scratchy.

“Oh, don’t tell him,” Simon said, laughing, and he pushed on Markus’s arm. “Let him stay pure.”

“What’s a twink?” Connor repeated. He didn’t like being left out of their jokes all the time.

“It’s…a guy who…” Josh started, but he seemed unsure how to explain it. 

“It’s a guy who looks super sweetly fuckable,” North said, and everybody started laughing again. “With a cute little face like yours.”

Connor blanched, if he could even do that. He swallowed harshly, a behavior he’d picked up from Hank despite not needing it.

The terrified and embarrassed look on Connor’s face hushed them all up, once they realized he hadn’t found this situation funny in any sense of the word. Uncomfortable silence filled the air around them, and they all awkwardly turned back to the trunk and finished unloading.

“Simon, you guys wanna go ahead of us?” Markus suggested, closing the trunk once they’d collected all their things. “We’ll catch up with you.”

Simon nodded and motioned for the others to follow him, and they headed off into Markus’s house.

Markus turned and leaned on the back of his car, arms folded over his chest while Connor stood awkwardly off to the side.

“What’s going on, Con?” Markus’s tone had shifted entirely from their previous joking around. He was suddenly serious, and caring. This tonal shift he was one he made often around Connor, which let the younger boy know that somewhere in there, Markus really did care about him, even if he sometimes acted and spoke impulsively.

“ _Nothing_.”

“Well…okay, ‘ _nothing’,_ then could you tell me why you get so upset whenever anything related to sex comes up?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s totally normal,” Markus said, brandishing his hands in a way to show he meant no harm, “and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It is your own body after all, we’ve all got one. What I’m saying is – ”

But Connor didn’t stay to let him finish, and turned around abruptly to walk in the opposite direction. He didn’t know how far they were from Hank’s house, or how to get there, but he’d rather be anywhere else than there with Markus right at that moment.

“Where are you going?” Markus asked, but Connor didn't answer. Markus jogged slightly to catch up to him.

“Connor, wait," he said. " _Please_.”

Connor stopped walking and turned around again to face an apologetic looking Markus. He was grateful that Markus hadn’t tried to grab his arm to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” Markus said, shaking his head. “I put my foot in my mouth, just like I do all the time.”

Connor just stared at him, not saying anything at all, and still wanting to walk away from this conversation.

“It’s kinda my thing. Being an asshole,” Markus tried to joke, but Connor didn’t smile.

“I really am sorry," he said. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just joking, and obviously I wasn’t doing a very good job, was I? I was being a jerk.”

Connor relaxed a little, and let his guard back down, but he still remained quiet.

“You want to stay at my place tonight?” Markus asked, trying to quirk up his tone to cheer Connor back up. “So you don’t have to walk all the way home in the dark.”

Connor nodded, and Markus's lips turned up into that wide smile he always had, and suddenly, Connor's worries melted away all over again.

They made their way into the house to join the others, and for a few hours, the five of them spent time swimming in the indoor pool, playing video games, lounging around, the works. After a while, the other three parted ways and headed home. Connor was the only one to stay the night. 

While they were getting ready for bed, Connor asked if Markus had a toothbrush he could use, and Markus went and got him a new one.

“You’re actually gonna brush your teeth!? What a _nerd_.” Markus teased as he handed it to him from the cabinet. “I’m kidding, I’m going to, too.”

Markus and Connor stayed up for a little while looking out Markus’s telescope that he had in his room, laying down on his bed and talking, and listening to music.

When they were finally ready to settle in, Markus went over to his vanity mirror and started moisturizing his face.

“Could you get my retainer out of the nightstand?” Markus asked, and Connor nodded from where he'd been sitting on the bed, on the right side.

Connor turned behind him and reached over to pull the stand open, finding it full of a few different bits and baubles. He shifted around in there for a few seconds, trying not to be nosy despite wanting to dive right in and take a good look at everything inside. The object that peaked Connor’s interest the most was an almost empty box of condoms and a container of lube. He pushed everything out of the way to grab Markus’s retainer case.

He shut the drawer softly, and then turned back to hand the plastic retainer box to Markus, who accepted it with a smile. He looked back in the mirror, popped open the case, and pulled out its contents to begin putting them on.

“Dude, your teeth are _hella_ fine, man,” Markus stated, pushing on the top retainer in his mouth to make sure it was secured. He spoke with a slight lisp now. “Wish mine were like that. Instead I just got these fucked up eyes and crooked teeth.”

“I like your eyes,” Connor offered, as if that were worthy condolence, and Markus smiled goofily at that.

“Thank you!” he said dramatically. “Now I can finally accept myself for who I really am.”

It was silent for a few moments while Markus finished up at his vanity and then came over to the bed and climbed in on the opposite side to Connor, who was staring up at the ceiling and barely breathing.

The ceiling of Markus's bedroom was covered in glowing plastic stars, which made the room feel much like a dream. Connor was very interested in these stars, and couldn't stop looking up at them, entranced by the simple beauty of them.

“Do you and Simon have sex?” he suddenly asked, and Markus scoffed out in surprise.

“Woah!” Markus laughed, moving back slightly under the covers to get a good look at Connor, in disbelief at the question. “Little intrusive there, don’t you think, Con?”

“Oh,” Connor flushed a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I shouldn’t ask that.”

“It’s okay, really. I mean, yeah, we do. Why do you ask?”

“If Simon is a twink,” Connor asked, repeating the word he had heard earlier that the others had laughed at, “what does that mean?”

“I was just joking,” Markus shook his head, “it’s just…an inside joke. I’m really sorry about that, again.”

“What’s the joke?” Connor asked, genuinely wanting to understand so that he could feel included in this ‘inside joke’.

Markus moved his mouth from side to side, seeming to consider the answer for a moment before deciding on responding simply with, “Just that Simon is smaller than me, physically. I didn’t really mean anything by it.”

“Are you the one who has sex with him, or does he do it to you?” Connor asked, and Markus reacted strangely to his words. 

“Why’d you word it like that?” Markus asked, wrinkling his nose up at the question. “Sex isn’t something you ‘do’ to another person. It’s something you do together, that you’ve both decided to do.”

“I don’t know how else to say what I’m trying to ask," Connor admitted.

“You mean who’s on top?" Markus suggested. "Usually we take turns, there’s no reason to limit yourself to always doing the same thing during sex.”

“What is sex supposed to be like?” Connor asked, and Markus turned over fully towards him, placing one hand beneath his pillow and the other against his face to hold his head up properly.

“How do you mean?” Markus asked curiously.

Connor turned his wandering, anxious thoughts over in his mind for a few moments before responding, because he wasn’t quite sure exactly what he wanted to know, or how to ask.

“Does it…hurt?” Connor asked, though he still didn’t really know if this had been the question he’d wanted to ask.

“Emotionally or physically?” Markus joked, making a kind of silly face at the question to lighten the heavy mood. “Because trust me, the emotions are the hard part.”

“I guess I don’t really know what I mean,” Connor admitted quietly, shrugging absentmindedly at his own inability to articulate his feelings. “Never mind.”

“Alright then,” Markus said, letting the subject fade off, nodding his head but not pushing it any further. His breathing slowed down, and Connor wondered if he was falling asleep. Connor didn’t want Markus to fall asleep yet; he didn’t want to be alone.

“Wish we could blow this fucking place,” Markus said, letting out a long-held breath of air into the space above them.

Still staring blankly up at those faintly glowing stars on the ceiling, Connor didn’t respond.

Huffing out a breath again and resituating himself under the covers like he just couldn’t get comfortable, Markus turned back to Connor and asked, “Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?”

“I’m…not really sure. I haven’t been to a lot of places,” Connor admitted bashfully, and Markus nodded understandingly.

“I wanna go to California,” Markus said dreamily, like he’d thought about this often. “Always sunny, happy…just somewhere better than here. Somewhere I can start over. Don’t know if I’ll ever make it there, though.”

“There’s always Canada,” Connor said, and Markus laughed. Connor liked his laugh, it made him feel good in the center of his chest, like eternal sunshine in a single sound.

“‘Always Canada,’ he says,” Markus joked, “So we go up there, open a maple farm, become fisherman...yeah, I could work with that.”

“Hank – my dad – he…he talks about moving to Canada a lot,” Connor said, and Markus nodded.

“Do you think you will?” Markus asked, and Connor could sense what almost sounded like…disappointment?

Connor shrugged beneath the covers, and said, “I’m not sure. He’s still thinking. I know that he feels attached to Detroit, but I also know that he wants a fresh start.”

“Well, you can’t move,” Markus said, as if it was so obvious, and Connor quirked his head in question.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I’d miss you too much.”

_Miss him._

Connor wondered what that felt like. Missing someone. He’d never missed anyone before, he didn't think. Never felt what it was like to long for someone after they’ve gone, whether permanently, or only for a short while.

He thought about this for a long while into the night.


End file.
